


Bounce Back

by No_One_Special



Series: How to Recover after Losing your other Half [1]
Category: Sam & Max (Comics), Sam & Max (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, But Sam refers to Max as his other half once so you decide, Canon Related, Canonical Character Death, Depression, Dreams, First time posting please be gentle, Gen, Grief/Mourning, I'm Sorry, I'm so nervous posting this idk why, M/M, Max only really shows up in dreams, Only 10 years late to the Sam & Max train, Or y'know all of Sam's thoughts, Out of Character, Sam is a good boy, Sam is serious throughout the whole thing, Sam/Max is never explicitly stated, Serious, Visions in dreams, i love them, idk how to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:47:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29599899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/No_One_Special/pseuds/No_One_Special
Summary: [MAJOR DEVIL'S PLAYHOUSE SPOILERS]Sam stared out at the Statue of Liberty, waiting for a miracle...but it didn't happen. At least, not yet.AKA Max doesn't arrive in the time machine like he did at the end of Devil's Playhouse. How does Sam deal with the trauma of losing his partner? How is he expected to ever recover from something he'd never anticipated happening?
Relationships: Abraham Lincoln/Sybil Pandemik, Max & Sam (Sam & Max), Max/Sam (Sam & Max)
Series: How to Recover after Losing your other Half [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2193081
Comments: 21
Kudos: 58





	1. The Lonely Statue, The Lonely Dog, The Lonely Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Thank you for showing interest in my little story! I've absolutely fallen for the wild antics of the Freelance Police (even if I'm a little late to the party) and really wanted to write about them!
> 
> Just a reminder that this story will detail grief and depression. Nothing explicit or anything, but if it makes you uncomfortable, please don't push yourself to read the whole thing.
> 
> This is my first time posting here and I'm a bit nervous, I encourage all feedback so I can improve my writing!
> 
> This will be updated every few days or so. As of posting this I have written all of the chapters except for the last one. I just have a lot of editing to do now! ^^;
> 
> Thanks!!

Sam wasn’t crying.

He wasn’t sure exactly how long he’d been standing there, staring out over the statue of Lady Liberty, and frankly he didn’t care. It could have been minutes or hours or, heck, if he wasn’t even acutely aware of the passage of time, it could have been days. It didn’t matter.

Because Max was gone.

And this time he wasn’t coming back.

Those last two sentences seemed to repeat endlessly in Sam’s mind, each repetition sending him deeper into a state of mind he didn’t want to be in. He should have worked harder, done more. He should have stopped Charlie Ho-Tep or broken free from his control. He should have worked quicker to cut that tumor out. It should never have gotten as bad as it did.

As he continued mentally berating himself, Sam’s gaze didn’t break from the looming statue in the distance, though he wasn’t really looking at it. His head was racing at a million miles an hour, all with negative and self-deprecating thoughts, and yet…he wasn’t crying.

If Sam could go back, he wouldn’t let Max anywhere near those stupid toys. He would have taken them and destroyed them or hidden them or _something_ , just so long as Max had stayed _away_ from them. Because then he would be safe instead of…

Sam finally came slightly to his senses. He blinked and refocused on the Statue of Liberty in her splendor. He found it a lot less impressive now. Merely the sight of the green statue made him sick to his stomach. The last place Max was…himself.

Sam and Max had never been a serious duo, despite some of the serious circumstances they found themselves in, in which they could have died or worse. They never worried because they had always thought of a way through it. They’d always pulled through together. And they’d always had each other’s backs. Always full of jokes and good humor and even better company. They loved going out on cases and serving up justice, no matter the danger. They always got through it. But this time was different.

Because Max was gone.

And this time he wasn’t coming back.

There were only a handful of times Sam recalled that he had been genuinely worried about Max’s safety, and probably half of those occurred in the last few weeks. Max always bounced back no matter the situation, so there wasn’t really a call for worry. Little guy was damn near indestructible it seemed. But when Sam found his partner without his brain, or when he had taken that fall on the statue, or when he was transformed into…

Sam shook his head. He shouldn’t be here. It reminded him too much of Max, and not in any positive manner. But where was he going to go? Back to the office, alone, with all of _those_ reminders? Sybil’s, which he wasn’t even sure existed anymore? Stinky’s? Bosco Tech? He couldn’t bear seeing anyone else right now. Not yet. Their looks of pity were the last thing he wanted or needed. He wanted to be left alone. Maybe lie down and just disappear for a while.

But before he walked back, Sam took one more look at Lady Liberty. He didn’t want to hold out for a miracle, but he did. If by some one in a million or one in a billion chance Max just popped up again like he always did and things went back to normal, Sam wouldn’t even question it. He would accept it, thank whatever higher power heard his plights, and be the happiest dog in the world.

A moment passed. Then another. Only the lap of the tides against the rocky shore below met his ears. And with each passing second, Sam’s hopes continued to evaporate. No miracle would be granted today.

Sam solemnly placed his hat back on his head, and slowly turned and walked away from the edge of the ocean. Back home. Alone.

He could have commented on the destruction of the city, or the people walking the streets cleaning up, or the giant robots left standing, but he didn’t. He’d seen it all already. What was he supposed to say? He simply stared at the ground as he placed one foot in front of the other, invisible weights tied to his legs making walking difficult and slow.

As he rounded the corner of Straight & Narrow, Sam looked up at his office window. The same window he’d looked out hundreds of thousands of times before. Faded and ripped yellow tape adorned the front door of the building, but that didn’t stop him from simply ducking under it and walking in. That door couldn’t even lock.

The destruction of the building was immediately prominent, half of the stairwell had crumbled into the tunnels below. Sam counted himself lucky that the office was still intact. Part of him wondered if the building was structurally sound enough for him to be climbing around in it, but he quickly decided he didn’t care and walked up what remained of the stairs, testing each step gingerly before putting his weight on it.

As he approached the door to the office, his breath hitched slightly. ‘Sam & Max: Freelance Police’ still adorned the frosted glass in goofy font. Despite the hitch in his breath, he wasn’t as phased as he thought he would be. He gulped down whatever sound about came out of him and walked in.

It was…quiet. The office was so quiet, if it weren’t for the miscellaneous objects still strewn about the room, Sam wouldn’t have even recognized it as his own. Dust had managed to cake every surface of the room since the last time he’d been here. It did no favor to his allergies, but that was hardly the first thing on his mind right now.

Sam stepped into the office, the only light fluttering in was through the windows from the lazy, late afternoon sun, as the power was still cut. He quietly observed a few of their possessions as he passed them. The dartboard, the phone and answering machine, their plant, Sam’s large desk and Max’s small one. It was like nothing had even happened. Like they’d just been gone for a while and were getting back from a vacation they had never taken.

Sam looked to the couch in the corner of the office. It was the same lumpy mess it had been the day they found it in the dumpster after Max “accidentally” scorched their old one. Sam shook his head to clear it. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat down and brushed some of the dust off the cushions. The particles floated softly in the air and whisked away to different surfaces to cling to. He removed his hat and gently placed it on the ground at the foot of the couch.

He took a deep breath while lying down. He was a bit too tall for the lumpy furniture, so his head rested uncomfortably on the arm rest and a spring dug into his back, but he didn’t care. He folded his hands together on his stomach and stared at the ceiling.

Realistically, this was no different than staring out at the Statue of Liberty, but he felt slightly more at peace here. Usually Sam couldn’t stand it when it got too quiet (that’s what Max was for), but in this moment, he didn’t mind. It was almost peaceful. Like a calm after a storm. Sam theorized that that analogy was a bit too accurate for comfort.

So he laid there and thought and grieved. He didn’t cry, which still kind of surprised him. In fact, it made him feel worse. He knew that he was never one for serious emotions, Max wasn’t either, but with all that was going through his mind and all he had gone through in the last few weeks, he felt he deserved a good cry. Tears pecking the corners of his vision, at least. But he didn’t. So he just felt more miserable instead.

And that is how he stayed for a while. He didn’t know how long. His mind felt like it was moving a thousand miles an hour and yet was completely silent at the same time. Both racing and paused. Still. Silent. And with that, Sam drifted off into a sad, dreamless sleep.

* * *

It only occurred to Sam that time had passed when he noticed that it was almost as dark with his eyes open as it was when they were closed. And he only noticed this and snapped back to reality because of an inconsistent clicking noise. It sounded like a tap or a pop. He blinked and rubbed a hand over his face as another light clink met his ears.

He continued trying to adjust his eyes to the darkness. He looked over to the window, the only light source in the room, as a bit of light streaming in from the street lamp outside illuminated a small section of the floor. Sam sat up and felt the ground for his hat when another clink met his ears. He straightened up quickly and focused his attention back towards the window, the source of the noise.

Another moment passed and Sam didn’t move. Finally, another clink met his ears and he noticed a quick movement of something smacking the window. He stood up and slowly made his way over to it.

Sam opened the window and looked out it. Down below on the street, Mama Bosco was holding a rock, arm back and ready to throw. The window opening made her stop.

“Sam?” She called, dropping the rock. “Holy-Is that you? Where have you been? Come down!”

Sam didn’t answer, but poked his head out just enough so she could see him and confirm he was there.

He _really_ didn’t want to see anyone right now. Especially one of those most involved with Max’s-…he let out a breath. Well, she wasn’t going to go away on her own. He felt his way to the door and opened it. He wasn’t sure if he could face her right now or talk to her about anything, but he wasn’t left with much choice after she’d already seen him.

It took him a while to navigate his way down the stairs. As it turns out being in a half demolished building with no power in the middle of the night wasn’t the best idea. Shocker. Eventually, though, he managed to make his way to the front door and opened it, ducking back under the caution tape and meeting Mama Bosco on the street.

Immediately the woman grabbed him and hugged him. He didn’t hug back. Neither Sam nor Max were used to any kind of physical contact that didn’t involve violence in some capacity. Not that he was necessarily complaining about the hug. It just made him uncomfortable.

“Thank goodness I found you!” Mama Bosco exclaimed as she removed herself from him and held his arms, looking in his eyes under the shadow of his hat. “We were getting worried when you didn’t come back to the lab.”

Sam wasn’t sure if she was expecting an answer or an explanation of some kind, but he wasn’t prepared to share…not that there was much to say anyway. The air grew awkward due to his silence.

“Right, well, come on. You’re not stayin’ here and we want you back where it’s safe.” Mama Bosco let Sam go and motioned for him to follow her. He didn’t move. It took her a moment to notice. “Sam?”

He shook his head a bit and looked at her. “I…can’t go back there.” He mumbled. The first thing he said since the cloning failure.

“Well, you can’t stay here.” Mama Bosco put on hand on her hip and leaned forward, other arm motioning to the office building. “It’s half destroyed with no power. Besides, I think it’d be best if you weren’t off all by your lonesome right now. You’ll only end up makin’ yourself feel worse.”

While Sam knew she was right, it didn’t make him any more willing. Perhaps he was just stubborn, but the idea of living at Bosco Tech with everyone giving him that look and talking about him like he was helpless and sad…that definitely wouldn’t help either.

“Come on, Sam.” She urged. “It’s late enough and I think we all need a bit of rest.”

Sam still didn’t move.

Mama Bosco sighed in frustration. “Look, just one night, okay?” She took a step towards him and grabbed his hand. “Just for tonight come back to the lab and we’ll talk more tomorrow? Please, Sam, I don’t want you stayin’ here all alone.” She patted his hand with her free one.

Sam looked down and removed his hand from her grasp, placing it and his other in the pockets of his trousers. “…Fine.” He sighed. “Just for tonight.”

Mama Bosco gave him a smile that he didn’t look up to see. “Thank you, Sam. That makes me feel a whole lot better.” This time, when she turned and led the way back to the lab, Sam followed her.

* * *

They would have been able to make it to the lab in a matter of minutes if Sam still had the DeSoto. Unfortunately, he lost that when Max… _Stop thinking about it, Sam._ He thought. _Don’t think about that right now._

Mama Bosco didn’t have a car, or, at least not one that the tags weren’t severely expired on. She hadn’t really needed it as a ghost. So they walked, turning a short trip into a long one.

It was strange. The city itself seemed quiet. _Unusually_ quiet. It seemed that the city that couldn’t sleep finally was finally getting some much needed rest. Sam desperately wished to hear the standard hub-bub of the streets, though. He wanted some semblance of normal as they crossed giant craters and demolished buildings. Something that could take his mind off of how screwed up and twisted everything became.

“How’d you know I was at the office?” He found himself asking. His voice sounding unfamiliar to him.

Mama Bosco didn’t turn to look at him as she answered with a shrug. “Didn’t, really. Just hypothesized it as a possibility.” She turned her head and looked at him. “I almost gave up after the tenth rock, figurin’ it was pointless. Glad you were there.”

Sam wasn’t sure how to react to that, so he just gave a hum of understanding. “Who else is out…looking for me?” He struggled a bit finishing that question, partly because it made him feel even guiltier.

“Just Detective Paper and that Papierwaite guy.” Mama Bosco answered before stopping abruptly. “Oh, that’s right. I should radio ‘em and tell ‘em I found you.”

Sam watched as she pulled out a radio he failed to notice was strapped to her hip and pushed the button, causing a *beep* noise from the device, along with a little green light near the antenna.

“This is Bad Momma, I’ve got Sam and am headed back to the lab.” She spoke into the device before releasing the button and holding it a little closer to her ear.

Sam heard a muffled and static response as the light on the radio turned red. “Rocky S, hear ya loud and clear Bad Momma. Headed back.” Sam didn’t need to see him to know Flint Paper’s unmistakable voice. Knowing Flint was spending his time looking for him didn’t help Sam’s emotional state any.

“Magic Man, uh, reporting in.” Anton Papierwaite’s voice met Sam’s ears. “I will be heading back to the museum if you don’t mind. I have a lot of cleaning up to do.”

 _Magic Man_? Sam thought. _Rocky S? Bad Momma?_ He decided not to voice his confusion about the names out loud.

“10-4 Magic Man. Thanks. Bad Momma out.” Mama Bosco clicked off the radio and strapped it back to her waist. She turned to Sam and nodded but paused when she saw his confused expression. “What?”

“Er, nothing.” He replied.

“Good.” She said and continued walking.

Sam took another second before following. He was partly glad Sybil wasn’t out looking, especially in her condition. Was she in labor now? Had she had her child already? He was curious but, at the same time, didn’t…really care. It felt awful to admit that but he held a sudden bout of apathy towards the woman of endless professions and her freak-of-nature child. What did it matter to him how she was? If it weren’t for that baby they’d have gotten that tumor out and saved Max. Sam shook his head to clear his mind.

The rest of the walk continued in strained silence. Mama Bosco figured Sam didn’t want to engage in any small talk. She was right. He didn’t. And Sam didn’t have anything else to add either. So it was quiet. Silent. The sounds of their footsteps on the sidewalk being the loudest thing in their ears.

“Ah, here we are.” Mama Bosco said as she approached the door to Bosco Tech. She paused a moment before opening it and turned to Sam. “Listen, Sam.”

Sam stopped when she did and looked up at her. He brought himself out of his thoughts just enough to acknowledge her.

“Now, I don’t want you gettin’ your hopes up or anythin’, but…” Mama Bosco scratched her check with a gloved hand. “I think I want to try the clonin’ thing again. Maybe if I can alter the machine’s input a bit, it could still work.” She gave him a small smile. A _pitiful_ smile.

In all honesty, her words didn’t completely register with Sam. Even if they did, he wasn’t sure how excited he would have been. Maybe a few hours ago he would’ve been more thankful. But now, he just shrugged a bit and said, “Okay.”

Mama Bosco smile was replaced with a look of disappointment. She tried again. “I know it seems like a big maybe, but I really think I could do it.” She proclaimed, hoping to cheer the dog up a bit.

Sam wasn’t having it. He didn’t need her pity or her hypotheticals or her clones or anything. Besides, even if she did…bring him back, so to speak…It wouldn’t be Max. It would look like him and maybe talk like him, but it wouldn’t be Max, just like how the Samulacra weren’t _him_. It just wouldn’t be the same.

Mama Bosco must have noticed his lack of change as she dropped her newly acquired fake smile. “Yeah, okay. Come on, I’ll take you to one of the apartments I’ve got here for the night.” She said as she opened the door and stepped in.

The room was fine. Like a standard apartment. Sam was, admittedly, kind of surprised to see it fully furnished. He figured the condemned building would have at least been ransacked before Mama Bosco moved in. The idea that the scientist furnished it herself seemed unlikely, she hadn’t even had a body until just recently. When would she have had the time to go furniture shopping? Sam supposed it didn’t really matter.

“Okay, here you are.” Mama Bosco announced. “I’ll leave you to it for tonight. Remember to come check with me if you need somethin’.” She walked to the door and held the knob in her hand. “And don’t even think about leavin’ tomorrow mornin’ before we chat. Got it?” She looked over her shoulder at the dog.

Sam simply nodded. And with that, she closed the door, leaving Sam to himself once again.

Sam let out a breath as soon as the scientist left. He wasn’t even really aware he was holding it. He took another look around the room. It was generic and plain. No pictures, portraits, or paintings. No home touches or decorations, just standard tables and chairs. There was a slightly lumpy blue couch in front of a modest television in the living area, but Sam didn’t bother. Mainstream news was probably the last thing he needed right now. To his right there was a small kitchenette with an even smaller pantry. He didn’t bother checking if there was any food: the very thought of eating made him feel nauseous. To his left was a small hall with three doors.

Sam walked down the barren hall. The left door contained a bathroom with everything needed for any bathroom activity he could think of. The middle door at the end was simply a towel closet, fit with built in hamper. The right door was a small bedroom, fit with bed, nightstand-which had a phone and a table lamp on it, dresser, and closet. The bed was even made with fresh sheets. Had Mama Bosco gotten them for him? Or maybe she just washed them? Sam wasn’t sure.

He walked in the bedroom, not even bothering switching the lights on, and sat on the side of the bed. He ran the soft fabrics through his fingers. It was slightly calming. He wasn’t sure if he’d actually sleep, maybe he’d just sit here and think. With the way his mind wandered, though, he wasn’t super keen on the idea. Sleep was probably what he needed.

Sam took his hat off and placed it on the nightstand. He didn’t get under the covers and didn’t change out of his suit. He didn’t care enough to. The bed was soft and very comfortable. Still, all he could do was stare up in the ceiling, just as he had in the office, waiting for sleep to take hold of him as his brain raced in circles.

He tried to keep his mind somewhat clear and avoided any thoughts of Max or any of the events they’d been going through recently. Now that things had calmed a little, maybe he could get a bit of a better grasp on everything.

Aside from the obvious, some things at the very least were somewhat normal. Sybil was probably in the hospital. Mama Bosco, Flint Paper, even Anton Papeirwaite and Yog Soggoth were accounted for and moving forward with their work. Sam wondered if Stinky was back in the diner, only to recall that his brain got transferred to that of one of the space gorillas. Now _that_ would be a great story. What about Girl Stinky? Whatever happened to her? Sam only pondered this for a moment before realizing that he didn’t actually really care where that overcooked batch of fish sticks was.

The dog sighed and closed his eyes. Everyone else was just…going on with their lives. Granted, Sybil kind of had to, and most of the others were also looking out for him, but still. They were still…functioning normally. Like they weren’t completely lost and alone now that Max was gone.

Great. Just what he wanted to avoid thinking about. Not that he could really help it. It felt like half of himself had just been ripped from him. More than half, maybe. What was he without Max? When was the last time he’d gone solo? Sam tried to think.

Well, there was the time Max got himself kidnapped by one of the local mafia. While initially concerned, as Max didn’t usually have a tendency to wander off without word (he was kind of obsessed with attention like that), Sam didn’t think too much of it. It wasn’t until the commissioner called to have him investigate said mafia that Sam managed to put two and two together. Kinda strange the commissioner knew about Max’s whereabouts before Sam did, but he knew never to question the commissioner. It wasn’t long before Max was back at his side, blasting mafia goons away and locking them up with a smile.

He had been concerned, but not overly so. He didn’t feel he had completely lost his sense of purpose in the time Max was gone. Though, he supposed, at that time he knew he would be getting him back.

Regardless, Sam smiled at the memory. They had so many grand adventures and brushes with death, but always got through relatively unscathed. Sam supposed that it was so standard that they’d never really planned for any kind of alternative. How would you go about planning something like that anyway?

Great, he got himself worked up and feeling upset again. Sam ran his hands down his face and sighed. “What am I supposed to do without ya’, little buddy?” He asked quietly to the empty room before closing his eyes and trying to sleep.

* * *

Whatever sleep Sam was trying to get was suddenly interrupted by a loud ring. He startled awake and looked around, slightly panicked. He noticed the phone by the bed ring again. He grabbed it without really thinking about who could possibly be calling at this time or how they got the number. Mostly just to make that horrible ringing stop.

“Hullo?” Sam mumbled groggily.

“Sam?!” Came a surprised reply.

Sam startled to full alertness. No mistaking the voice on the other end. “Max?!”

“Oh wow, cool! Hey, Sam! How’s it goin’?” Max asked in a bubbly tone over the phone, his cheeriness shocking Sam into silence.

“Uh, I…” Sam couldn’t formulate his words properly to respond, the sudden shock of hearing Max’s voice was a tad overwhelming. How was he speaking? Where was he? Was this some kind of prank? Questions circled endlessly in the dog’s mind. He could barely process it when Max spoke again.

“Yeah, cool. I’m good, too. Great now, though!” Max’s replied. “Real good to hear from ya again.”

Sam finally managed to overcome his initial shock, worried that this was some form of goodbye. “Wait! Uh, are you okay? Where are you?” His voice oozed with the panic he felt internally, but he didn’t notice or care.

“I already answered that first one, Sam. You should really look into an ear cleaning regime.” Max teased. “As for _where_ I am, I’m actually at-“suddenly, Max’s voice cut out.

“Max?” Sam whined. “Max, please say you’re okay…Or just say anything.” He held the phone close to his ear for any sign from his little pal.

“I’m _peachy,_ Sam!” Max’s voice returned to his ears once again and Sam gave a sigh of relief. Though, something sounded slightly off. It wasn’t the voice itself, but there was a definite tone shift. Max continued speaking before Sam could fully piece it together. “And I _just_ remembered where I am!” Max spoke with glee.

“Where?” Sam pleaded. “Where can I find you?” He already forgot the thing he was just worried about a second ago.

“Why, I’m at the Statue of Liberty, right where you abandoned me!” The cheerful voice exclaimed.

Suddenly, the walls around Sam crumbled and fell, the phone disappearing out of his hand. He was back. Back on that blasted statue with that horrible marionette. He looked up with horror as he witnessed, for the second time, Max falling onto Lady Liberty’s crown. Sam willed himself to climb up to his friend as he called for him, but he couldn’t move. His limbs were tied down with what felt like invisible rope, a heavy weight ensuring he couldn’t break free. And when Sam called, it wasn’t his own voice or his own words, but rather those of that infernal puppet who was out of Sam’s field of view. “Oh, poor Max!” The voice mocked. “He got aaaaaall tuckered out from our little battle!” It laughed.

Sam struggled even harder to move and break free. To go help. The voice continued its mockery of Max. “And to think your ultimate downfall was all because of the one you trust the most!” Sam felt eyes staring at him as he struggled to break free, but he couldn’t see who was watching him or from where. “Little Sammy here is soooo helpless that you just _had_ to save him and got yourself _ruined_ for it! HehehehahahAHAHAHAHAHA!!” The voice continued to laugh and taunt.

Suddenly, Sam could move. He stood almost too quickly. He took a deep breath and jumped up the crown of Lady Liberty to find Max, sprawled out and unresponsive, scrapes and bruises all along his small body.

“Max?” Sam called, his own voice returning to him, frightfully small and timid. “L-little buddy?” He gingerly reached out and grabbed Max’s small form. It was light and cold.

“Max?!” Sam echoed again, louder, looking for some sign of response as panic further wracked his body. “Max, come on! Get up!” He clutched the rabbit tightly and lightly shook him. The lagomorph’s head only fell limply to the side.

“No…” Sam whispered as he held his friend tightly. “No. No. NO.”

“Nngh…S-…Sam?”

Sam’s eyes blinked open and he looked at Max with awe. “Max! You’re-“

“S-Sam, I-*COUGH COUGH*” Max hacked. Sam shushed him quickly.

“Shhh, no, no. It’s okay. I got you. You’re fine now.” He whispered and held Max closer, ignoring the fact that the rabbit had just said cough loudly instead of actually coughing.

“No, Sam I need to…” the rabbit wheezed, as if every word caused him immense pain. “I n-need you to…know something…”

“It can wait, Max. You should rest.” Sam insisted, continuing to huddle over the lagomorph.

“Sam…” Max pushed himself away so he could look the dog in the eye, “I… **RIIIIING RIIIIIING RIIIIIING**

Sam instantly startled awake, his limbs cold and clammy and a tangled mess in the sheets, his body stricken with a cold sweat. He greedily gasped for breath as another ring from the phone next to the bed startled him again.

He blinked a few times, reached over, and grabbed the phone. “Huh…Hello?” He managed to breathe out.

The voice of the commissioner met his ears, letting Sam know that he should take it easy for a while and he shouldn’t have to worry about another case for the time being. Surprisingly, the commissioner even mentioned his condolences for Max. Sam was still bitter and didn’t want to be pitied, but he thanked him the same, and agreed that it was probably best to take a break from police work for now.

As he hung the phone up, still catching his breath, Sam wiped his brow and tried to regain his composure. He counted backwards from 10, breathing deeply each time until he felt almost normal again.

The room was now deathly quiet after the click of the phone hitting the receiver and Sam’s breathing shallowing out. Sam only heard his slowing heart beating in his ears. He buried his face in his hands at his horrible dream and sat there until morning. Unmoving. And yet…

Sam wasn’t crying.


	2. Statue of Limitations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it only occurred to me way after writing a majority of this fic that the Statue of Liberty's head fell off at the end of Chapter 4 in Devil's Playhouse, so some of this technically wouldn't make sense due to that.
> 
> I tried to give reason behind how the statue was still intact, but it's not super solid.
> 
> Just pretend like the statue never broke. Or got fixed really fast.
> 
> Or just ignore this note and enjoy the chapter :)

Sam wasn’t sure how long it’d been.

Most likely answer was a few hours, since he could see the sun’s rays shining through the blinds of the window slowly cover more of the room until it was bright enough to see clearly. How long had he actually been asleep? He turned to the phone on the nightstand and squinted at it, making a mental note to find whoever’s idea it was to put a phone _that_ close to a bed and give them a _real_ ear-ringing.

Eventually, though, Sam moved. He readjusted and put his legs out over the side of the bed, took a breath, and stood up. He felt several of his bones pop, making him question if he was getting old as he grabbed his hat and put it on.

He considered taking a shower, but with no fresh clothes and no real desire to, he decided against it. Though he did begrudgingly look in the mirror in the bathroom, only to gauge just how out of it he was.

It looked like his entire face was drooping, with unkempt patches of fur sticking out at odd angles and large, heavy bags under his eyes. His suit looked wrinkled, clearly having been worn for a while. He looked just about as gross and sick as he felt. At least the hat was still alright. That was a plus.

Sam made his way out of the bathroom and out of the small apartment he had been put in. He seriously considered bailing, but knew facing the wrath of Mama Bosco would be infinitely worse than whatever conversation she wanted to have was. He sighed and turned towards the half-underground lab.

As he reached the elevator to head down, he looked down and saw Flint Paper. Great. He _really_ didn’t want Flint to see him like this. If he hadn’t already stepped onto the circular platform, he definitely would’ve turned tail and left.

“Heya Samm-o.” Flint greeted as Sam stepped off the elevator. “How’s it goin’?”

Flint definitely didn’t need to ask that to know the answer. Sam turned his head and knew that his appearance probably said enough.

“Eh, rough night, huh?” Flint crossed his arms and shook his head slowly. “Tell ya what, I had a pretty rough one, too. I was tryin’ to help patch up some of the holes in the streets around here to get some cars movin’ again when some damn hoodlums ran past me with a bunch of stolen stuff from some store down the street. Had to hightail it outta there and give chase, shooting rounds as warnings. Ended up tailing ‘em for half an hour till they finally ran outta energy. Took another hour after detaining ‘em to get back.” Flint smiled. “Course, after that there was more fixing up to do. Kept me busy, at least.”

While Sam normally liked hearing about Flint dealing out vigilante justice and nonsensical violence to petty criminals, he really wasn’t up for it today. He was about to give a generic response before Mama Bosco took a break from whatever machine she was typing on and finally acknowledged him.

“Never mind that story. He already told it to me three different times with two different accents and five alternate endings.” She shook her head and smiled at Sam. “Anyway, how’d ya sleep? Apartment’s pretty nice, if I say so myself.”

Sam gave Mama Bosco the same look he gave Flint in response.

Her smile quickly turned into a slight grimace before she composed herself. “Hey, don’t worry about it. No one expects you to get back on your feet right away.” She moved and sat at the table in the middle of the lab, gesturing for Sam to join her. He did so reluctantly. They sat in a strange and awkward silence, presumably she was expecting him to say something, but he didn’t. “What’s on your mind, Sam?” She prompted a bit forcefully, breaking the silence.

Sam shrugged. He wasn’t exactly sure how to answer her question. For a brief moment he considered disclosing everything about the horrible dream he’d had the night before but he quickly shot that idea down. That was far too embarrassing to talk about, not to mention he didn’t want to bother them with that. It was kind of a silly thing to get all worked up over anyway. He eventually settled for a standard, “Not much. Or too much. Hard to tell.” It was still kind of the truth but also vague enough that it didn’t make him _too_ uncomfortable.

Mama Bosco clearly wasn’t too pleased with that response, but she didn’t push. “Yeah, that makes sense.” She commented and readjusted her gloves to fit more snuggly on her hands. “Anythin’ you wanna get off your chest? We’re listenin’.”

Sam tensed slightly. He felt caught between being selfish and being vulnerable. It would be so rude not telling them something after all the effort they’d put into finding him and checking on him. But at the same time, he never _asked_ for them to. There was nothing wrong with Mama Bosco _or_ Flint but Sam couldn’t bring himself to talk about his issues with them. Not when they’d always known him as being so carefree and laidback. No. It’s best that they just leave him to his own devices until he gets through this like he’s gotten through everything else with Max…Except, this time he-“Nope. Not really.”

Mama Bosco looked over at Flint, who merely shrugged. They clearly weren’t fully equipped to deal with Sam’s stubbornness. “Alright. We won’t rush it. Maybe you’ll want to talk to someone else. Maybe a professional.” She suggested.

Sam _hated_ that idea. _Loathed_ it. “I am not talking to Sybil about this.” He quickly shut it down.

“Fine.” Mama Bosco said. “Then we’ll find someone else. Plenty of mental health professionals in the city. I’m sure we’ll find the right one.” She said it with such finality that Sam would have a hard time arguing.

That didn’t mean he didn’t want to. He wanted to protest that talking to a complete stranger about this was even _worse_ , but didn’t. It was too much energy to argue. Energy that he was sorely lacking.

“Oh, by the way…” Mama Bosco stood and fished in her pocket for something before bringing out a Bosco Tech keychain with a single key attached to it. “Here’s the key to that apartment you were stayin’ in. You’re welcome anytime. Front door’s always open, too, so you don’t gotta worry about that.”

She plopped the key into his hand with a smile. He eyed the keychain itself curiously. IT was a standard piece of plastic with the same design that was on the flag outside the building. “Where’d you get the keychain?” He asked.

“Made it myself. Keychains have been obsolete since I was alive. Er…the first time, that is.” She scratched the back of her head. “Decided to try sprucin’ ‘em up. This is the test run.” She put her hands on her hips. “Nice, huh?”

Sam dangled the key from the chain and gave it a spin. “What…does it do?” He asked, staring at the spinning key.

“It can hold all of your keys together.” She proudly proclaimed. Sam waited for something else…there wasn’t anything else. “Isn’t that great?”

“…Yeah. Can I go now?” He asked, causing Mama Bosco to lose her macho. Despite asking though, he had already decided to stand up and walk back to the elevator and move back up to the ground floor.

“Fine.” Mama Bosco sounded a touch bitter. “But, I expect to hear from you soon. Don’t make me send another search party.” She warned. Sam didn’t acknowledge the warning. He simply walked out of Bosco Tech into the bright midmorning sun.

* * *

Frankly, he wasn’t sure where he was going. He just started walking. The city was so big, surely his feet would lead him somewhere as his dream from the previous night kept repeating in his head. Though it would’ve helped having a car, still…

It felt like some kind of cruel joke. Like his mind kept putting Max right in front of his face only to tear him away and spit on him for his shortcomings that lead to his partner’s death.

Death.

Sam shuddered at that, but the word kept repeating in his mind on loop. A grim reminder of Max’s true fate. He didn’t simply disappear or run away. He _died._

Sam tried to take his mind off of thinking about Max with distractions by taking in the sights around him as he walked, but it didn’t do much good when every other step revealed some sort of destruction Max had caused as an Elder God. He sighed.

Sam supposed that the simplest thing would be to try intentionally thinking of something else, but not much came to mind. He instead began counting his steps as he walked. The repetition and consistency was slightly calming. It didn’t completely take his mind off of things, but it helped him from getting too lost in thought as he walked.

It occurred to him, once again, that he had no idea where he was going. He didn’t often walk for fun or in his free time around the city, he didn’t really have much free time that wasn’t spent with Max. He also didn’t pay much heed to his surroundings when driving, the multiple busted parking meters and dents in streetlights were testament to that, so the nearby landmarks didn’t stand out to him much, either.

Eventually, Sam found himself on a corner. It wasn’t completely unrecognized, as he’d probably been down this road as he had most of the others in the city during his career, but he didn’t immediately recognize any of the generic brick buildings or street names. The businesses around when he looked up at their bright, colorful, if not slightly faded signs didn’t ring any bells either. Must not be _that_ interesting, or else Max surely would have recommended them. Sam made his way down the street.

At least this part of town hadn’t seen _quite_ as much destruction as any of the land near Lady Liberty had. The road was actually almost entirely intact, aside from the copious potholes which Sam couldn’t confidently say Max _didn’t_ cause-either before _or_ during the Elder God thing. The buildings were fairly normal, too, all things considered. A few cracks and crumbling corners, but definitely no giant holes or scorch marks. It was actually kinda nice seeing a side of town that was normal.

As Sam continued down the road, the buildings on his right gave way to a large parking garage. Not entirely uncommon or special. He took note that there seemed to be another parking garage further ahead, past this next building. His eyes followed the paths and concrete archways as the building came into focus. A hospital. Figures. Sam hummed as a small idea came to mind. His feet continued moving before he fully thought through his decision.

Sam stepped into the clean, bright entranceway and walked up to the front desk, taking note at how empty the main waiting area was, which was rather surprising, given how busy hospitals usually were, especially after a giant monster attack. A small woman with large eyes and an old fashioned nurse’s uniform was typing away at a computer behind the front desk. She had short, wavy, brown hair and lines on her face that revealed her age despite her attempts to cover them up. She was chewing gum and blew a large bubble with a noticeable pop. She turned to Sam as he approached the desk.

“Hi, hun,” Her voice was bubbly and kind, yet further revealed her age with its slight rasp. “What can I do for you today?”

Sam scratched his neck and pulled at his collar in uncertainty. His flash of an idea suddenly seeming ridiculous and completely unplanned. “Uh, visiting.” He said, then quietly added under his breath. “I’m not even sure this is the right place…”

“And who’re you here to see, Punkin?” The lady emphasized the “n” as she took her hands off the keyboard and supported her head in her hands-giving Sam a half lidded stare. She either didn’t hear or didn’t acknowledge his lack of confidence. Her gesture only served to make him more uncomfortable as she waited for a response.

“Uh…Pandemik. Sybil Pandemik. In maternity?” He sounded unsure of himself. “She’s a friend.” He felt the need to explain, for some reason. He couldn’t fully explain why he was doing this or why he was here. He wasn’t even fully sure if he could handle seeing Sybil right now. Just saying her name reminded him of Max’s last coherent words. _Save Sybil_ echoed in his head. He shivered. Perhaps he felt an obligation to see her. Perhaps it would give some resolution to something he wasn’t even sure of.

“Hold on, dear.” The lady went back to her computer and typed for a moment before grabbing a small card and writing something on it. She handed it to Sam. “Here ya’ go, sweetie. Room 317. Third floor. Take a right after gettin’ outta the elevator.”

Sam looked at the card which had the room number written on it. The other side said **VISITOR** in big, bold, black letters, with the name of the hospital underneath in fancy cursive font. He hummed and pocketed the card. “Thanks.” He muttered as he moved away from the desk.

“You bet, sugar.” The lady said before turning back to her computer and getting back to work.

As Sam made his way to the elevators, he passed by a food court, or maybe a cafeteria. The smell of hot breakfast hit his nose and his stomach growled in earnest, reminding him he hadn’t eaten. He shook his head. He’d sooner die than be caught actually _eating_ hospital food. Especially so early in the morning.

He continued walking, admiring the surprisingly calm atmosphere of the hospital. Sam didn’t mind hospitals, in all honesty. Heck, in his line of work he’d been inside of ‘em more times than he’d ever bothered to count. Though, to be fair, he was usually there because Max recklessly got himself hurt fairly frequently. They were usually in and out in a jiffy, though.

_Don’t say jiffy, Sam._ Max’s voice echoed in Sam’s head as he hit the call button for the elevator. He fidgeted as he waited. A moment later, the rickety box dinged, the door opened, and Sam walked in. There was a map of the hospital by the buttons, explaining what wards were on each floor and where they were located. Sam didn’t really bother reading them as he hit the ‘3’ button and stood back, waiting for the door to close.

The elevator began moving and dinged upon passing the second floor. It only just occurred to Sam that he should’ve brought Sybil a basket or something. Maybe a card, congratulating her for the baby. But at the same time, he hated that idea. _Congrats on getting Max killed._ He couldn’t help but think. While he tried ignoring his bitterness, he could just barely detect some of that cheesy music they always play in elevators quietly playing over some speaker in the background as the doors opened on floor three with a medium pitched **diiing-dooong**. Thing was clearly old.

Sam stepped out and headed to the right, as instructed. He hadn’t walked for very long down the soft carpeted hallway before he saw a nurse’s station. “Uh, visitor for 317. Pandemik.” He explained to the tired looking nurse behind the desk.

She stood quickly and stepped out of the station, smoothing out her scrubs. “I’ll have to check and see if she’s awake.” The nurse said, leading Sam to the right down a hall. “She had a, uh… _very_ long delivery.”

Sam simply nodded, even though the nurse wasn’t looking back at him to see it. They passed several rooms on their way to Sybil’s. Many of which Sam was sure were filled with happy new mothers and their bouncing bundles of joy. He sniffed dismissively.

“And that baby is, uh…” The nurse continued, though she caught herself about to insult a patient’s baby and quickly corrected herself. “I mean, the miracle of childbirth is really wonderful, isn’t it?” She asked in a phony, high-pitched voice. Sam only hummed in agreement, not fully listening.

“Ah, here we are!” The nurse exclaimed a bit too loudly and quickly. She opened the door to the room, 317 on a nameplate next to the door with ‘S. Pandemik’ on a typed piece of paper underneath it. “I’ll be right back out.” She said as she stepped in, shutting the door behind her with a click.

Sam heard her footsteps underneath the door as he looked around the hall. Somewhere in the distance he heard the faint sounds of a baby crying. Not surprising, of course, seeing as this _was_ the maternity ward, but he obviously wasn’t a fan. He turned back to the door, noticing a folder full of seemingly important documents under the nameplate on the door. Interesting, but definitely not his business. He wasn’t going to risk getting in trouble just to look at Sybil’s medical information.

“Mrs. Pandemik?” He heard the nurse’s muffled voice through the door. “You have a visitor.”

“Oh, good.” Sybil’s familiar voice responded quickly. “Please, send them in. I’m soooo bored sitting here.”

It wasn’t a moment later that the nurse came back out and kept the door open for Sam. “Don’t stay too long. She still needs plenty of rest.” She warned. “If you need anything, hit the call button.” She finished. And with that she began walking back to the station, leaving Sam in the doorway.

He gulped. He wasn’t sure why he was _nervous_ of all things, it was just Sybil. It was probably the fact that he hadn’t seen her since they were…He bumped his palm to his temple to clear his thoughts. _Come on, Sam. Keep it together._ He thought.

Sam stepped into the hospital room and closed the door behind him. It was completely standard. Machines, white walls and floors, small bathroom to the side, folders and health posters on the wall, it almost smelled as sterile as it looked. Standard. The only real pop of color in the place was a bouquet of flowers with a large blue balloon attached to it beside the bed.

Sybil was pretty much the same as always. Hair in a slightly messy bun, large glasses adorning her face. The only real difference was the hospital gown she was wearing. She smiled brightly when she saw him. “Sam!” She exclaimed. “I’m so glad to see you.” She gestured for him to come closer to her bed so she could embrace him. Sam really didn’t want to, so he instead only reached out a hand to shake hers. She shrunk a bit at the gesture, but didn’t let it affect her. “Thank you for coming.”

Sam nodded, but couldn’t bring himself to look at her. When he did, the words _Save Sybil_ kept repeating in his head again, like a drum that was way too loud. He looked away, suddenly finding the corner very interesting. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Every word caught in his throat. He couldn’t even mutter a simple “congratulations.” She didn’t seem too bothered.

“You holding up okay?” She asked before quickly shaking her head. “Sorry, you’ve probably been asked that enough, I’m guessing.”

“…You have no idea…” Sam found himself able to respond with a breath, thankful for the acknowledgement.

Sybil cocked her head slightly to the side, her brows furrowed with that horrible pitying look Sam hated. “For what it’s worth, I’m really sorry, Sam. About…everything. I’m sure it’s been rough.”

While he appreciated the sentiment, Sam didn’t want it. He didn’t want her to treat him like his life was completely ruined…even if it kind of was. It cost her nothing to say that, _she_ didn’t lose anything. _She_ still had her baby and her life was just _peachy_. _Hey Sam, sorry your life sucks right now, but I’m doing great!_ He thought, hot anger clouding his vision.

He just wanted to ignore all of the negative emotions he was feeling. Leave them alone. Stuff all of his brokenness into a box and shove it into a corner, leaving it to rot. He couldn’t bring himself to give any sort of acknowledgement to her statement, lest he lashed out inappropriately.

Sybil seemed to notice his lack of reaction and tried to change the subject. “Uh, Abe sends his regards.” She commented. “He’s off at the White House helping President Superball with the disaster relief, otherwise he’d be here.” She explained.

Her words only stung more. Hearing ‘President Superball’ and ‘disaster relief’ could only further remind him of Max. How could they not? His shoulders slumped.

“Hey, uh…Would you like to say hi to the baby?” Sybil asked quickly, noticing his deflation. “It’s about time for him to eat anyway. I’m keeping him on a strict schedule so when he further develops it will already be ingrained in him.” She explained.

Sybil reached gently into the crib next to her bed and lifted up a small bundle in soft, yellow blankets. Actually, all things considered, the bundle was rather large. Sam did manage to snap himself out of his funk for long enough to turn and lean over the bed as Sybil uncovered the baby. The little guy was still half asleep, his little chubby arms folded together, his hands over his mouth. His stone head leaning against his mom and his little tummy-wait, wait. Stone head?

“He takes after his father.” Sybil mentioned as Sam stared slightly slack jawed at the child. “Do you want to hold him?” She asked.

Sam shook his head, worried that the child weighed as much as he looked and instead vied to bring his hand towards the now-awake baby. He lightly tickled the baby’s stomach, eliciting giggles from the infant, who then, curiously, began feeling and grabbing Sam’s furred hand.

“Aw, you’re kind of a cute little abomination of nature, aren’t ya?” Sam asked, and, for the first time in the last few days, actually cracked a smile as the baby grabbed his finger with surprising strength, his earlier anger seemingly disappearing.

Sybil gave him a sideways look at the comment, but smirked anyways. “I’m going to let that one slide _only_ because I see it made you happy.” She said, which made Sam smile a bit wider. “The doctor said I’ll be staying here tonight, but if everything still looks good, I’ll be going home tomorrow.”  
  


This seemed to snap Sam out of his brief joy. “Ah.” He started. He should probably tell her that her building was destroyed, huh? “Uh, about your office…” he explained.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I already know.” Sybil waved a hand of dismissal. “It’s a good thing I invested in supernatural phenomenon insurance for an occasion like this. Especially on our street. They said I was crazy, but who’s crazy now?” She exclaimed. Sam couldn’t exactly mimic her enthusiasm, but he was at least a bit glad she had something figured out. “Abe set me up in a little apartment until he finishes in the white house. We’ll decide where to go from there.”

“Well, that’s good.” He replied, then turned back to the baby, who had taken to sticking the side of Sam’s hand into his stone mouth. “Woah, easy there, tiger.” He said as he retracted his hand, causing the child to babble in confusion. “You don’t know where that’s been.”

“And you really don’t want to.” Sybil added before turning her attention back to Sam. “Anyway, I’m glad you came up, Sam. It’s good to see you.”

“You said that already.” Sam replied, wiping the saliva off his hand. “But, thanks, I guess.” He bit his tongue before he said he wished he could say the same. He tried really hard not to show his annoyance and anger, especially since interacting with that freak of a baby was the happiest he’d been in a while. It actually managed to take his mind off of things for a moment.

Sybil looked past Sam’s head at the clock hung high on the wall. “Oh! It’s Georgie’s feeding time.” Sybil changed the subject and cooed at the baby. “Isn’t it, sweetie?”

Sam shuddered. “Uh, as fun as that sounds, I think that’s my cue to leave.” He explained, taking a step towards the door, almost horrified of the aforementioned “feeding time.”

“Oh, alright. Thanks for stopping, and stay well, Sam. Reach out if you need something.” Sybil gave him a small wave as he left, yet he only gave a brief grunt of acknowledgement to her statement.

Sam gave a sigh of relief as the tension left his body when he closed the door behind him. He almost ended up leaning his weight against the door for stability. Seeing Sybil was _hard_. He felt bad, because she was his friend, but he couldn’t stand looking at her in her soft, perfect little hospital room with her horrifying child. Not when he’d lost Max because of her.

Sam shook his head to try and prevent himself from blowing up. He _knew_ it wasn’t Sybil’s fault, but he couldn’t _help_ it. It was like he kept convincing himself that she was completely to blame.

He began making his way out of the hospital with only one question on his mind. _Now what?_

* * *

Sam had been walking for another long while. He lost count of his steps after the first thousand or so. While he was used to spending a lot of time on his feet, the amount of walking he was up to today wore him out. His legs started protesting the action as he went.

Thoughts of Sybil and her baby sill whirled around in his head. Don’t get him wrong, he was _extremely_ thankful she had gotten to the hospital and had a safe delivery, but when he thought of the _cost_ of that delivery, he…found himself resenting her.

If it weren’t for her water breaking right when they had finally gotten all of the components out of the way to help Max, the _only goal_ they set out to accomplish in the first place, his little buddy would have still _been_ there. But at the same time, bartering with himself about the value of lives exchanged only made him feel guiltier than he did. Who was he to decide Max’s life meant more than both Sybil’s _and_ her baby’s. _I’m his best friend, that’s who_. He convinced himself, as if that made a lick of difference.

Sam stared solemnly downwards as his feet continued to carry him to places he didn’t care to notice. Why was it _so darn hard_ for him to spring back from this? He’d faced tons of hardships before, but none of them ever made Sam feel so unbelievably burnt out. It felt like the simple acts of walking and talking, things he did _constantly,_ were too much for him. Like all he was good for was taking up space or fading out of existence.

Sam blinked at the sudden sound of a horn, the loud noise abruptly bringing him out of his strange daze. It took him a second to fully comprehend where he was, and when he did, he realized he was already moving. He looked over the edge of the boat he found himself on and stared wide eyed at his destination: The Statue of Liberty.

An initial panic immediately set in. He did _not_ want to be here. He had to get off this boat. He ran to the back, past a few crowds of eager tourists, only to heartbreakingly discover that they had already pulled a decent way away from shore. How hadn’t he noticed? How had he blindly just climbed aboard a boat headed for the _worst_ place it could possibly go? _Bad feet!_ He chastised. He clutched his head in his hands and leaned his elbows on the back railing, small bits of cold water splashing onto his face.

He had to calm down. He was _freaking out on the back of a boat surrounded by tourists_. He didn’t need to be in his best headspace to know that that was _bad._

The crowd gathered towards the front of the boat, leaving him a little space, but he didn’t really notice. His heart was hammering in his chest, his legs shaking slightly-as if they could no longer support his weight, despite doing so his entire life. He found he couldn’t breathe properly.

Images of Max flashed through his head, as if her were transported right to that exact moment when he found him on Lady Liberty’s crown. After ensuring he was okay, he assumed their trials were over. Max even joked with him about it. But, suddenly, his partner started _growing_ a-and _changing_ until…

Sam stared in terror at nothing, abject horror creeping under his skin. The memories played like a movie or a series of image slides through his head.

Suddenly he was back again, in his dream. Powerless and taunted by a disembodied voice. Watching helplessly as Max fell. Trying desperately to save him, only to have Max _insist_ on talking about…something. Max never _did_ know when to keep quiet in serious situations, or when it was one of those rare occasions where a joke or offhanded remark wasn’t appropriate. Part of Sam wished he knew what it was Max wanted to tell him before he was startled awake by the phone, but another, logical part of him knew that it wasn’t _really_ Max in his dream...It was just a representation of the lagomorph constructed by his lonely and tired mind.

The boat’s horn blared again deafeningly in Sam’s ears, snapping him out of his own thoughts and panic. He turned and saw Lady Liberty towering over him as the boat pulled into the dock on her island. He gulped. Part of him just wanted to stay put on the boat. A big part, actually. But he didn’t. His feet carried him off, despite his mental anguish, towards the menacing statue. No, the statue itself wasn’t menacing. Sam wasn’t developing a phobia of it, but he couldn’t look at it without feeling like part of his soul was desperately trying to claw its way out of his body. In short: not good.

Recovering from his panic attack, Sam distracted himself by observing the grounds around the base of the Statue of Liberty. It seemed the same as ever, minus the giant crater where the head of the statue had fallen due to their case. The head, though, was surprisingly back where it belonged. Sam hummed in slight amazement. That was fast. He’d only been to the statue a few times before the whole... _incident_ , with the toy box, so he couldn’t fully say what the “usual” was for the island. Though, it did make Sam think about the first time Max suggested they visit the island.

It had been a rather slow week for cases and the freelance police were desperate for something to do. While Sam had offered a road trip to apprehend petty crooks and drug dealers on the street: what they usually did between cases, Max pined for a change of scenery, and only suggested visiting the statue as they drove past it. They’d lived in New York for basically their whole lives and never been. It was almost criminal.

So, they’d boarded the boat and sailed over. Honestly, it wasn’t _that_ impressive. At least, not to Max. He kept going on and on about “minor” changes he would have made to have the statue more accurately match his likeness. “Just subtly.” He’d assured. Of course, Max’s ideas of subtle involved blowing the statue to smithereens (in excruciating detail, Sam might add) and rebuilding it from the ground up in a “more adorable and marketable” fashion. That took up the majority of the conversation on their first visit. But hey, at least it made Sam laugh, shake his head, and give Max a signature “You crack me up, little buddy.”

Not that he had much to laugh about now.

The memory served to lighten Sam’s mood a bit as the statue loomed over him in the bitter afternoon sun. He felt microscopic under its towering might. Reliving what had happened at the statue made his heart race and his palms sweaty. How _powerless_ he had been. Even though he did everything he could to help Max in the moment, it was ultimately up to his little buddy to stop Charlie Ho-Tep. Max sacrificed himself for the good of the world. It was honestly unexpected. Up until that blasted marionette’s plan, Sam could’ve sworn that Max wouldn’t sacrifice himself for anything except for maybe some of those prepackaged, highly processed and unhealthy snack foods he couldn’t name without a lawsuit.

Sam’s stomach gave a weak growl again in response. He ignored it. He couldn’t eat. Not now.

He walked up to the base of the statue, looking at the very doors his dogglegangers entered to throw themselves into whatever portal or spell Charlie Ho-Tep made to summon that Elder God, Junior. It was almost strange seeing it not being packed to the brim. He surmised that was probably a good thing.

Sam stepped into the Statue of Liberty. He marveled at the large frames keeping the entire statue together and the hollowness of the interior. He stared up as far as he could past the stairs. It would be a long climb, and his legs were already tired, but he ignored them and walked up anyway.

There were several tourists paused to take pictures of the framework on the way up. Sam ignored them, thinking it was weird to take pictures of simple frames. Then again, tourists were weird in general. He walked past and kept going. His legs protested with every step, slowing him down a bit, but he didn’t stop. He continued climbing, eventually entering Lady Liberty’s crown.

It felt bigger on the inside than it looked on the outside. There were open windows on the crown to look out over the cityscape, but nothing Sam hadn’t already seen and definitely nothing worth weaving through a dense crowd of tourists attempting to take pictures for.

His eyes scanned the walls of the crown until he found what he was looking for: a door. A door that read in big red letters: **UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL PROHIBITED FROM OUTDOOR AREA.** Sam scanned the group. There didn’t seem to be any security around, and he’d already stepped through the door before when he ran to get Papeirwaite to help Max, so he knew there was no alarm or lock. He peered once more over his shoulder before flinging the door open and quickly stepping through, shutting it behind him.

Really, he didn’t care if those dopey tourists saw him enter a restricted area. They didn’t know he wasn’t authorized. And since he still had his badge, he could probably convince them he was needed there, if he had to. He was thankful he didn’t, though. Talking to tourists was about as low on his priority list as actually filing paperwork for the commissioner.

The cold wind whipped Sam’s face and he had to readjust his hat so it wouldn’t fly off. His tie blew violently out to his side. There was nothing blocking the elements this high up. And it wasn’t just the wind, Sam noticed with slight shock how _cold_ it was. He didn’t remember it being this freezing up here last time. Of course, he didn’t really have much control over his body last time, so he couldn’t really say if that influenced his experience or not. Still. The rapid drop in temperature caused him to cross his arms and hold them close to his chest to keep his hands from freezing off.

_What am I doing here?_ He thought to himself as his teeth chattered. He walked over to where that little piano he had been forced to sit at had been. It was gone now, leaving only an empty ledge to a long drop below. Sam supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. The government had already replaced her head, surely removing a piano would be easy _._ Sam stepped away from the edge.

He looked up at the crown. It was a simple climb, really. Surprisingly not very slippery. He released his hands, which were still cold despite his efforts to warm them, and grabbed a spike of the crown. It was freezing. He took a breath and heaved himself up.

The top of the crown wasn’t anything special. Just a bumpy surface on which to stand, but Sam didn’t take much notice of that. His eyes were transfixed on one spot: about a quarter of the way from the exact center towards Lady Liberty’s left side. _That_ was where Max had fallen, and where he’d held the rabbit in his dream. He shuddered, but only partly due to the cold. It was all so…surreal. Almost like it never happened. Like, he was _still_ dreaming. Just to be sure, Sam pinched at his arm. “Ouch!” He yelped and stopped, rubbing the spot. “Hmm, guess I’ll have to wait for another phone call to know for sure.” He added.

He walked to the spot, careful to keep his balance on the uneven surface. It was only when he got closer that his eyes caught something moving and blowing in the wind, caught on a sharp edge on the ground. He knelt down and picked it up. A patch of white hair. Or, more accurately, fur. Max’s fur. Just a small patch. A few strands of hair. Almost completely unnoticeable. But Sam saw it, and when he grabbed it, his eyes were like saucers. The last piece of Max he had.

Without thinking, Sam tightly gripped the hair in his hand so he wouldn’t lose them and rubbed a finger through the ends, noting the soft texture. He hummed. If he were really weird, he’d pocket the hair, put it on a crude Max effigy he kept in the closet surrounded by other curious/gross objects the lagomorph interacted with (along with candles for aesthetic), and talk to it like it was the real Max. Thankfully, he wasn’t _that_ far gone mentally yet, so the idea didn’t even cross his mind…yet.

Suddenly, his thought up an idea. Or, more accurately a piece of information he knew and forgot about. Mama Bosco had said she wanted to try the cloning process again. Maybe with these, she could do it. Sam speculated that the last attempt failed because of the dark energy corrupting the only DNA sample he had. Perhaps with these spare strands of hair he could actually bring Max back for real.

He paused, still kneeling and unmoving for what felt like forever. Maybe if he had some version of Max, even just a dumb clone of him, maybe that would be enough to get him through this slump. On the other hand, he knew it would be like putting a bandage on a bullet wound: a nice thought, but ultimately unhelpful.

Slowly, Sam stood back up and walked to the edge of Lady Liberty looking out over New York. He sat at the edge between two spikes of her crown. It was incredibly uncomfortable and the metal was absolutely freezing, but he didn’t complain. He dangled his feet over the edge and avoided looking down, lest he make himself dizzy.

The sun was beginning its decent. Not sunset yet, but certainly past midafternoon. Its bright light made Sam squint to see properly. He must’ve been walking longer than he thought, he could’ve sworn it was just morning a second ago. He looked solemnly down at his hand, clutching the last piece of Max he had. Maybe, in the future, he’d come back and let them go. Let Max go. It was a fitting location for goodbyes, if his past experiences on this spot meant anything. But, today, he could only bring himself to clutch the stray hairs tighter in his grip. He wasn’t ready yet. He couldn’t bear the idea of letting the lagomorph go right now. No. He would wait and come back for that another day.

So, there Sam sat, looking at nothing and feeling nothing but bitter cold, despite the bright light of the sun cascading over him and his makeshift seat and despite the almost pleasant interactions he’d had with his friends today. He sat for a long time. Too long. He was pretty sure his entire rump had gone numb, maybe he even had frostbite, but he didn’t move until the sun was almost halfway behind the skyline of the city. Surely dozens of tourists had been in and out of the statue by now. He could faintly hear the boat’s horn a few times, but he never willed himself to move.

He felt nothing but deep and horrible loneliness…and cold, and while he was certain that he _must’ve_ felt this way at some point before…

Sam wasn’t sure how long it’d been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact:
> 
> In my initial draft, Sam let the hairs go but I quickly realized that 1. that wouldn't make any sense, and 2. I can take it a lot further by having him keep them.
> 
> It's funny how little decisions like that can completely change the course of a story :)


	3. Another one for the Drawing Board

Sam was tired.

His legs were tired from all of the walking he had been-and still was-doing, his mind was tired of all of the emotional ups and downs-mostly downs-he’d gone through, and his spirit was tired. Tired of being the broken glass on the ground people tiptoed to avoid. Tired of being treated like paper doll that would blow away at the lightest wind. Tired of missing Max.

That last thought almost mad Sam stop where he was, in the middle of the half destroyed road on the way to his office, due to the suddenness of it.

He was tired of missing Max.

He looked down at the small bits of hair, Max’s hair, still locked in the death grip of his fist. He subconsciously ran his other hand’s index finger through them as he delved deeper into that thought.

How could he possibly feel that way? The very idea made him sick to his empty stomach. It didn’t matter how taxing, he couldn’t just stop being despondent over Max’s death. They’d _always_ been together. He couldn’t imagine a life without the little guy. How selfish could he be? How could he find missing him _tiring_?

_Because it is._ A small voice in his head argued. Too bad Sam had taken to ignoring things he didn’t want to deal with as of late. It probably could have saved him some grief.

He looked down at the hairs in his hand, feeling his stomach churn. Maybe he _should_ have let them go earlier. He quickly dismissed it, that idea only serving to make him feel queasier.

The thought of letting Max go still sat, unwelcomed, in his mind. Images of the giant Cthulu-esque monster that used to be his little buddy waving goodbye to him flew across his vision. Sam felt another breakdown coming on.

_Not here._ He willed himself, slightly picking up the pace. _Wait till you’re home to freak out._

He kept repeating those words to himself as he walked. He repeated them so much, they basically lost meaning…Though, to be fair, he didn’t really feel the need to freak out anymore.

It seemed like forever before he reached the corner of Straight & Narrow. The sun was almost completely set, leaving dwindling light cascading over his office. He’d best hurry before it gets too dark inside to see.

Sam made his way back under the faded yellow caution tape and up the rickety, broken stairs. He realized on his way up that, with all of the damage to the city, it would probably be a long time before his home got the repairs it needed. He made a “tsk” sound. Figures.

He walked past his office on the second floor. As much as he would love to sleep uncomfortably on that couch again, he’d much rather rest in his actual bed. That, and he didn’t need anyone throwing anymore rocks at his window.

Sam looked up to the third floor. The stairs were just as destroyed up here as they had been walking up to the second. There was barely enough light to see, too. He gripped the supports on the wall and shimmied his way up, slow and steady, gingerly testing each step before fulling committing his weight. It was a long process.

Surprisingly, the third floor was in relatively good condition. Well, aside from the sizeable hole in the ceiling, that is. That wasn’t so bad, though. It was another source of light to get in at least. There were two doors on either side of the small hall, and one at the end. Sam knew the layout well. Max and he shared a room in the second door on the left. When they first moved in, they had been given the option of having separate rooms, but the landlord was going to charge double the rent, which was ridiculous. Since they weren’t exactly made of money, (and honestly probably would’ve preferred to room together anyways) they stuck with the one they had.

Off the top of his head, Sam wasn’t sure if Flint Paper stayed in his own room or if he had somewhere else to go. He quickly decided that it didn’t really matter since the detective was out most of the time anyway, and he wasn’t about to go snooping.

The other two rooms didn’t have occupants. This wasn’t exactly the most popular part of town, and the antics of the freelance police are most likely what drove off most of the potential tenants. That, or the swarms of rats, bugs, and who knows what that littered and infested the place. So, it was usually just Sam and Max in the office. They never complained, though. Sam personally liked the privacy.

The bathroom was at the end of the hall. It was nice having one so close-with a working tub and shower to boot. There was even one of those chutes in a towel closet in the corner that they could drop their clothes into that connected to the laundry room downstairs….or, at least Sam could do that on the off chance he _wasn’t_ wearing his signature suit. Sure, the laundry chute was a little bigger now than it had been when they moved in ( _certainly_ not Max’s fault), but it still served its purpose. Heck, the only thing their little home was really missing was a kitchen. But even that wasn’t a problem because neither of the freelance police were avid chefs, and Stinky’s was only two doors down. Not to mention that they had a microwave for any of their cooking needs.

Sam made his way down the deep green hallway to his door. The doors _technically_ locked, but theirs never was. It was usually just him and Max in the building anyway, and whatever sad sap tried it would instantly regret breaking into their private quarters. All of that, and they lost the key somewhere and haven’t bothered getting a replacement.

“Home, sweet home.” Sam mumbled as he opened the door and walked in. The room was the same as ever, which was mostly a big mess. Miscellaneous objects were scattered all across the floor and shelves. The one dresser they had was shoved unceremoniously into the corner, unused and inaccessible due to the mountain of things surrounding it. The bunk beds he shared with Max were shoved against the rightmost wall, just as always. Sam’s bottom bunk left unmade, Max’s bunk even worse. The wooden frame was full of scratches and engravings Max had made when he was bored and didn’t want to sleep. The nightstand at the head of the bed still had their old fashioned, analog alarm clock. It was still broken, of course. Getting hit with a wooden mallet a few times will tend to do that, but they liked the aesthetic of it, so it got to stay. Good thing Sam wasn’t a neat freak, otherwise he’d never have gotten very far with a destructive terror like Max.

He hummed and stepped into the room. It was unbelievably dark. The light from the hole in the hallway ceiling barely reached into the room. Didn’t help that it was practically past sunset anyway. Thankfully, Sam didn’t really need to see to know exactly where he was going in the organized chaos.

Step over the jacks on the ground, around the suit of armor with the axe, under an unrelated axe embedded in the wall, and by the runner’s block which he _always_ stubbed his toe on. He swore that thing moved every time. Finally, to the closet. The closet was full of suits just like the one Sam was wearing now, all hanging neatly in a row. Clean on the left, dirty on the right. Dry cleaners hated him when he showed up with like 20 of the things that needed cleaning. Sam almost snickered at that.

On the ground, right next to a broken flail Max had enjoyed having for a few seconds before spinning it too fast and breaking the chain, was a tiny rubber band. Maybe it was a hair tie? Sam wasn’t sure. Either way, he found himself lucky to find it when he accidentally stepped on the thing. He bent down and picked it up. He stretched it out and wrapped it around the spare hairs he still clung to, securing them together. Now he could loosen his grip a bit.

Sam reached up and undid the knot in his tie, then pulled the fabric seamlessly through the collar of his button up until it was free. He hung it over the tie hanger in the middle. The thing almost seemed to give under the weight of a pile of ties on it. He didn’t care. It hadn’t given yet, at least. He grabbed the lime green and light blue stripped pajamas that had been discarded sadly onto the floor of the closet, right next to an equally discarded and sad pack of off brand cookies.

One quick clothes change later, and Sam was back in a familiar spot, wearing familiar, soft pajamas and almost feeling…normal. If it weren’t so quiet, he could’ve sworn it was just another night at the office. _Now’s an okay time to freak out._ He reasoned with himself as he calmly maneuvered his way back to the door and closed it, leaving him in total darkness.

Sam made his way back to his bed on the bottom bunk and sat down on the side of it. He placed the tiny collection of fur on the nightstand so it wouldn’t get lost. He leaned his elbows on his knees and covered his mouth with his fists in thought. _How much longer are we gonna do this, little buddy_? He thought when new seeds of doubt planted themselves into his mind. _Why can’t I let you go_?

Sam wasn’t sure how long he sat there, trying to reason with himself that it was normal to have a slow recovery. But, realistically speaking, Max as he’d known him had been gone for weeks. It’s just that now he had no hopes of getting him back. Another image of Max’s Elder God form sadly waving goodbye to him passed through his memory. His face instinctually went from neutral thinking, to sad. “Sam: Freelance Police” just didn’t have the same ring to it.

Voices played across his mind as he sat alone in the quiet room, in the quiet building, on the quiet street, in the quiet city. “There is _no way_ I am having this baby inside a horrible monster.” Sybil’s voice echoed and repeated in his head. It made him shudder: not with grief or cold or loneliness, but with hot anger. Who was she to call Max a monster and abandon their mission to save him? How could she possibly have the _audacity_ to say such a thing when _her_ child was a freakish hell-spawn that should have never even existed? Who were _any_ of his so-called “friends?” If they had cared in _any_ capacity, they would have done more to help. They would have risked more. _Sacrificed more_.

The small voice of reason in Sam’s mind got ignored and silenced as he went on a mental tirade against those who cared about him. He even found himself angry at _Flint Paper_ of all people. But, what had the detective done? Where had he been when Max needed him the most? And what about Mama Bosco? Why didn’t she just _invent_ something that could’ve fixed Max? Or brought him back? Why didn’t she build something so Sam could go back in time to-

He froze as that idea festered and grew in his head. _Holy impatient mothers speeding past crossing guards on their way home from soccer games! The time machine!_ He thought. _If I can find that time machine, or-or have Mama Bosco make a new one, I can go back and_ save _him!_ That little logical part of his brain informed him that there was no way it’d be that simple, but in the moment it was _obvious_. It was the most straightforward plan he’d ever come up with, not that he came up with too many. He laughed and kicked his legs in excitement. The answer was right there! Just go back and fix it instead of wallowing in self-pity! Finally, things would be right again!

Sam decided that tomorrow he’d go and talk to Mama Bosco about it. Then, he’d go back in time, save Max either by bringing the lagomorph back to the present with him or by _actually_ saving him this time, and come back a new happier dog. It was perfect.

With almost forgotten motivation back in his system, Sam laid down on his familiar, if not slightly dusty bed and covered himself with the soft blanket he had used so many times before, a smile on the edge of his mouth. “Don’t worry little buddy.” Sam whispered with a stifled yawn. “I’ll get you back sooner than you’ll know.”

* * *

Sam wasn’t startled awake by a loud ringing from a phone in his ear this time, which was good. Instead, he was startled awake by the incessant clamoring of the alarm clock on his nightstand. He grumbled under the covers, folding his pillow over his head to cover his ears against the offensive noise. He waited for Max to violently quiet the thing so he could go back to sleep. A second passed. Then two…

Oh. Right.

Sam groggily sat up, grabbed the ringing clock, and slammed it onto the ground hard enough to break it into tiny pieces. Finally, some quiet.

He was just about to lay back down when he remembered his plan from last night. He had to get to Bosco Tech! The sooner he got to the past and helped Max, the better. He sprung out of bed, already in his suit and ready to go. He opened the bedroom door and stepped right through into the hallway of Bosco Tech.

He made his way down the, admittedly, unsettling hallway until he could almost see the lab below him. Nothing _appeared_ out of the ordinary, but when he tried to look down over the lab, he couldn’t see anything. It was as if some sort of wall was built overnight. Weird. He was about to board the elevator when he heard that voice again. _Max’s voice._

“Would it work?” He heard Max’s somewhat muffled voice ask, causing Sam to stiffen and freeze in place.

“I…don’t’ really know yet, Max.” Mama Bosco’s voice replied. “I mean, buildin’ the machine would be simple enough, but I’d still have to run tests and experiments before we could use it for somethin’ so dangerous. It wouldn’t be ready for a while.”

“Well then _get to it._ ” Max’s voice snapped impatiently. “I don’t know how much longer I can bear being alone like this.” He added dramatically.

Sam snapped out of his stunned silence and hastily stepped onto the elevator to move down and see Max. To tell his little buddy that he _wasn’t_ alone. He moved so quickly that he almost tripped on the darn thing, but that didn’t matter. He was going to see Max again!

The platform didn’t move when he stepped on it. It didn’t budge an inch. He paused in confusion when it didn’t lower him down. He stomped again. Nothing. Again. Nothing. Each stomp he put more and more weight into it until he was jumping on the thing in desperation. On one jump, he called down to the lab. “Max! I’m here! I can’t get down to you!”

They ignored his shouting.

“Are you _sure_ this is a good idea, Max?” Mama Bosco questioned. “I don’t know if we should be messin’ with the time stream to this capacity.” Sam paused his calling and listened closer. “It might not be safe.”

“We’ve messed with the time stream before,” Max reasoned, “and frankly, I haven’t seen _any_ negative side effects.” Sam could practically _hear_ the grin Max spoke through.

“This isn’t the same as grabbin’ a newspaper clipping or pullin’ a cork from a bottle. You’re talking about _revivin’ someone that doesn’t exist anymore_. It could destroy everythin’.” Mama Bosco warned. “Or create some kind of time paradox.” She added.

There was a slight pause before Max responded. “Everything’s been pretty much destroyed already.” He mumbled. His tone was shockingly despondent. Max sighed. “You don’t get it, Mama B. I _can’t do this without Sam._ ”

Sam felt his entire being tense up at that, a shiver ran through his spine. Max had _never_ spoken so negatively before. He didn’t even know the phrase ‘I can’t’ was in the lagomorph’s vocabulary. Max thought he was the greatest thing since sliced bread (and if they still had a time machine, he could probably make that true). It was alien to hear him sound so defeated and desperate.

On the flip side, he’d also never heard Max openly say he needed Sam before. It was…almost nice. If this were a different situation, Sam might’ve even teased him for it…He would probably never admit it out loud, because it was way too embarrassing (and, unlike Sam, Max would _endlessly_ torment him for even _implying_ something like that), but darn it, _he needed Max, too_.

Sam tried abandoning the elevator, breaking down the wall, and jumping down into the lab from where he was, but he couldn’t. That new wall was surprisingly sturdy. He rubbed his shoulder after ramming into it a few times, each ram giving a resounding thumping noise. He switched shoulders and tried again, but all he ended up with were two bruised shoulders.

Frustrated, Sam stood where he was. He couldn’t be fully sure how or why Max of all people was arguing with Mama Bosco, but he didn’t really care about the specifics. Max was _here_.

“Max, it’s way too dangerous.” Mama Bosco said with finality, causing Sam to stop rubbing his sore shoulders. “I mean, I could probably build it, but there’s no way I’m lettin’ you use it for that. I ain’t getting’ myself in trouble with any supernatural time police or anythin’ just because you can’t move on.” She finished with frustration.

Sam wanted to hear Max’s reaction, but right at that moment, the elevator whirred and beeped. Figuring that this meant it was back in business, Sam wasted no time jumping onto it. “Don’t worry, little buddy! I’m right-“

Sam cut himself off as the elevator lowered. The room was dark and musty. There were spider webs littering the corners and an old projector whirring near the back, displaying a large yellow square of light on a cracked concrete wall. There was rubble littered all about from some kind of cave in or something. Splintered wooden support beams reached up into the ceiling, indicating Sam was underground. Not that he needed to guess where he was. This was the tunnel under the office that connected to the sewer. And in the corner, right next to the projector, almost hidden behind some cracked foundation, was Max.

For a second, Sam could have sworn that this was just a memory of when he found Max without a brain replaying in his mind, but it was different. Max’s head was fine. The lagomorph even twitched slightly. His eyes were as wide as saucers, staring at something Sam couldn’t see from where he stood. He tried stepping off the elevator, but it was like he was in a glass tube, the invisible walls around the platform preventing his escape.

Sam had never seen Max so still…even when he was unconscious or asleep the lagomorph still managed to twitch disturbingly (yet endearingly). This was just straight up unsettling. “Max?” He called weakly, unsure if his partner could hear him through the glass. He knocked, just to be sure.

Max slowly twisted his neck to look towards Sam. The lagomorph quietly and painstakingly slowly brought up his trusty side arm and pointed it right at Sam’s head. “…Who…?” His partner muttered almost inaudibly. “…Who did this?” He twitched slightly to the side, towards whatever it was Sam couldn’t see that he’d been staring at. Despite the quiet, there was an edge to his voice. A _dangerous_ edge. Like he had really come unhinged, which was saying a lot, considering Max was always unhinged.

It wasn’t the gun being pointed straight at him that frightened Sam. No, Max had pointed his gun at him more times than he’d cared to count. What scared him was how Max was seemingly looking right through him. How _quiet_ he was. How cold and unmoving he was when he spoke. His voice alone sent chills through Sam’s spine. Something was horribly, _horribly_ wrong for Max to end up acting like this. That was what scared Sam.

Max continued staring, completely frozen. If Sam didn’t know better he’d think he’d left the little guy on ‘pause’ or something. Before Sam could find a reply to Max’s question, though, the elevator suddenly dropped through the floor to somewhere new, causing Sam to jump in surprise as he was taken down with it.

When he recovered from the drop that put his heart in his throat, he saw that terrible scene again. Max, as a giant monster, a Maimtron embedded deep into his chest. The beast gave a giant roar and looked straight at Sam. And for that moment, all he saw was his little pal. There was no monster or city. No destruction, or fear, or pain. Just Max, looking right at him. The lagomorph lifted a hand and gave a small wave.

Sam felt his heart breaking for a second time. He was completely powerless. He _failed_. Now this was the end. A miserable, horrible ending. He slowly raised a hand and pressed it against the glass of the tube he found himself in. What else could he do? “Goodbye, little buddy…” He heard himself mutter, though he didn’t will the words out himself.

The elevator disappeared from under his feet after that, and Sam fell. He didn’t scream or panic. It almost felt like he was underwater. There was a certain sense of calm that came with it, falling (or maybe it was floating?) like he was. As the world around him distorted and the colors blended together in a sick, wet mess, Sam slowly closed his eyes.

And when he opened them, he was back in his bed. A dream. Again.

It took him a moment to fully process that he was awake now, and to recover from the nauseous feeling that plagued his body. He took deep breaths to calm himself, though he couldn’t say he was necessarily panicking, it was more that he just felt…deeply disturbed and depressed. After another moment, he managed to gather that everything he’d just experienced had been a dream. He ran a hand down his face and rubbed his eyelids with his index finger and thumb. Maybe Mama Bosco was right…Maybe he _should_ talk to someone about this, if this was going to keep happening.

… _Nah._ Sam thought, as he dismissed the idea.

* * *

Sam had gotten dressed and quickly made his way to Bosco Tech to talk to Mama Bosco about his idea, ensuring he grabbed his little piece of Max and pocketing it before he left. Just in case.

He was actually pretty excited to tell her about it. His idea, that was. Not the hair. He was sure she could build him a time machine. Heck, she’d brought her own spirit back to from the dead and even managed to hop through dimensions. Time machines should be easy for her.

He couldn’t help but rethink his dream as he walked. It had been so _vivid_ , just like his dream from the previous night. It was enough to make him shudder, slowing his pace slightly. Sam never had any trouble recounting his dreams, but they’d never felt this… _real_. Having them so eerily related to what he was doing and what he was going through didn’t help much, either. He kept walking with a slight shiver in the warm morning sun.

And what was with Max in his dream? Max had _never_ spoken so seriously or so… _pitifully_. It didn’t make a lick of sense how Max could be talking to Mama Bosco about the time machine, but that wasn’t really what Sam had pondered. It sounded like his little buddy was _just as lost as he was_. That is, until the elevator moved and he saw him. _That_ scene was extremely unsettling.

_…Who did this?_ replayed again and again on loop in Sam’s ears, freaking him out a bit more every time. What the hell happened? How had he known Max for however many years and never seen him like that? He silently hoped that he never would, forgetting Max was gone. Because it was _scary_. Not something Sam found himself feeling often, scared, _especially_ in regards to Max. Others may have found the shark-like jaws frightening, or his tendency to always perform/suggest the most violent action possible unsettling, but that didn’t mean a thing to Sam. He could usually tell when the little guy was joking.

The way the lagomorph had so evenly and silently pointed the gun was one thing. That cold, unfeeling look in his eye…that was something else. It was horrible.

Sam tried to shove the image out of his head as he walked. He tried to focus on the plan. He recounted it: build the time machine, go back in time, save Max, come back, and go back to work. Straightforward and simple.

_What if Mama Bosco doesn’t want to do it_? A little seed of doubt cropped up in Sam’s mind. _What if she refuses to help, just like in your dream_? Sam doubled down on his determination, lightly feeling the outline of his gun in its holster. He had ways of convincing her…

That little logical part of his brain Sam had sworn he had silenced already returned full force, chastising him. _You’re going to shoot her if she doesn’t give you what you want_?! It berated. _You’ve really turned into some two dimensional, angst-riddled stereotype, haven’t you_?

“Not at all.” Sam replied aloud, suddenly thankful that there weren’t other people around to hear him talk to himself. “I would never shoot Mama Bosco. If she refuses, I’ll probably just get unreasonably angry due to having suppressed many of my negative emotions that I refuse to seek professional help for, causing me to lash out, and cause a rift in our friendship that would have to be repaired through long, monotonous chapters that anybody watching or reading about would probably just skip through to get to the happy ending.”

There was a long bout of silence.

_Yeah, okay_. His little logical voice eventually responded. _Just so long as you don’t go killing anybody without reason_.

“You’re no fun.”

Weird conversation with himself aside, Sam wondered if Mama Bosco really _would_ deny his request. He knew he shouldn’t take his dreams too seriously. Heck, once he dreamt that Fudgie-Freezes were pulled from the market and he had been inconsolable for days. He had forced Max to go out and buy cases of the stuff so he could stock up for the ice cream apocalypse that never came. Many Fudgie-Freezes were consumed that week, but even more were lost to the battle against the intense summer heat. They held a memorial. It put a tear in Sam’s eye.

So, he knew to always take his dreams with a grain of salt. He _knew_ that, but this one just felt so... _different_. Like it was some kind of sign or message. He shook his head, wondering why he was trying to find as much meaning in this as English teachers try to find in the color of a book character’s curtains or bedsheets. It was just a dream. A _weird_ dream, but still just a dream. He had to try and stop looking for things that weren’t there. He was obviously just manifesting his stress in unhealthy ways…That had to be it.

Seeing the green flag of Bosco Tech down the street seemed to snap Sam out of his thoughts. He wasted no time speed walking up to the door of the old brick building and heading inside. The faster he moved, the sooner he could see Max again.

As he stepped onto the elevator down, he looked into the lab. Mama Bosco was alone, doing whatever it was she usually did on those machines of hers. Sam never cared enough to figure it out, or at least he suppressed his old nerd-like tendencies enough to _fake_ apathy.

“Mama Bosco!” Sam hollered before the elevator reached the floor of the lab, the outburst causing the scientist to jump slightly in surprise as she turned around, placing a gloved hand on her chest.

“Oh!” She gasped. “Holy-ugh, Sam! You scared the livin’ daylights outta me.” She caught her breath and folded her arms in front of her chest with a smile. “What can I do for ya’? You seem in good spirits today.”

Sam jumped off the elevator as it hit the bottom, a grin plastered on his face, all of the fear and worry from the previous night and this morning had completely vanished. “I’ve got an idea.” He declared. “For an invention.”

Mama Bosco seemed to take another moment to absorb Sam’s rapid change in attitude from the previous day, but quickly snapped back to reality. She clapped her hands together and quickly moved to the table, throwing all of the assorted junk off of it. “Lay it on me!” She excitedly replied. “I’ve been itchin’ for somethin’ new to build.”

Sam went into detail about the time machine elevator he and Max had used on a previous case, trying to recall and relay every single aspect of the box to help Mama Bosco get a good idea of what it was and what it did. Meanwhile, the scientist listened eagerly and drew some schematics and blueprints while he spoke, her brain quickly and efficiently piecing together every detail of the machine. It was only when Sam paused to take a breath and try to remember more that she spoke up.

“This is great, Sam! I’m glad to see you so energetic again.” She smiled. “And with such a great idea, too. What brought it on?”

Sam tried to give her a look that said ‘you _really_ need to ask me that?’ But he was too excited to hold it for long. He explained anyway. “If I can go back in time, I can find Max and bring him to the present.” He paused. “Er, that or…actually succeed in saving him, this time.”

Mama Bosco’s excitement and energy about the project seemed to instantly deflate. Plans and ideas replaced with concerns and questions in her head. There were an infinite number of potential mistakes or errors that could occur should he actually attempt something like that. Sam was oblivious to her change in demeanor.

Sam, seemingly finding his second wind with the explanation, continued listing details of the device. Mama Bosco was only half listening, writing down solely so it looked like she was still invested while she thought of what to say. It was another few minutes before the dog finally wrapped up the entire story of the time machine, with every detail he could muster up.

“Wow, Sam…” Mama Bosco started before trailing off, uncertain. After a brief pause she gathered her words. Her eyes flitted over the schematics and rough drafts, avoiding eye contact. “That’s…a lot…”

“Do you think it will work?” Sam pleaded desperately, he clasped his hands together. He realized by her tone and facial expression that this may not be as simple and straightforward as he had initially anticipated.

“I…don’t really know yet, Sam.” Mama Bosco tried to let him down gently. She felt _awful_ having to be the one to say it, especially when he looked so desperate. But, she knew that this just _wouldn’t work_. “I mean, buildin’ the machine would be simple enough, but I’d still have to run tests and experiments before we could use it for somethin’ so dangerous. It wouldn’t be ready for a while.” She had hoped that the idea of it taking so long would deter him from this plan of his.

Suddenly, it felt like Sam was having an out-of-body experience. It was like he was watching a movie of himself speaking and acting, but wasn’t in control. This was just like his dream, when he heard Max and Mama B. talking about this _exact same thing_ , but he reasoned with himself that he was more composed than Max. He was better with words than Max. Surely he could get through to her and convince her to help him.

“Well do it _quickly_.” He ushered, trying to hide the desperation in his voice. “I’m…not sure how much longer I can bear being alone.” He added aside.

He realized it was kind of hypocritical for him to complain about loneliness when just yesterday he had seriously contemplated letting Max go on the Statue of Liberty. He reached into his pocket and rubbed the bundled hair again in response. But, yesterday he didn’t have a chance. Yesterday he was at the end of his rope. Today…today he could _actually do it_.

Mama Bosco seemed to be choosing her words carefully, as she didn’t respond immediately to his plight. This only served to further fuel Sam’s anxiety and stress. This had all moved so smoothly in his head, what could she possibly be contemplating?

“Are you _sure_ , Sam?” She gave him a look. The kind of look that made Sam question his own plan and decisions. It caught him completely off guard. “I don’t know if we should be messin’ with the time stream to this capacity.” She explained while he recovered.

“We’ve messed with the time stream before,” Sam found himself muttering, a touch of bitterness in his voice. “And, frankly, I haven’t seen any negative side effects.” _Besides, haven’t you already broken enough laws of nature in your life_? He added, silently.

“This is different from grabbin’ a newspaper clippin’ or puttin’ a cork in a bottle.” Mama Bosco shook her head. “You’re talkin’ about _revivin’ someone that doesn’t exist anymore_. It could destroy everything.” She gestured to the entire room to emphasize the point. “Or create some kind of paradox.” She finished.

“Everything’s been pretty much destroyed, already.” Sam found himself avoiding her gaze. He turned his body away from her and leaned his elbows back onto the table, looking down at the ground. He shook his head slowly as he continued. “Y’don’t get it, Mama Bosco. I _can’t do this without Max_.”

_I thought you said you weren’t turning into an angsty character stereotype_. That stupid voice in his head taunted.

_Shut up_. He replied.

Mama Bosco waited to respond. She waited for Sam to collect himself and face her. She knew she had to let him down gently. She felt bad doing this to him, but she had to. It was just _sad_ seeing him so desperate for Max. He needed to be more independent if he was going to make it. Sam didn’t look her in the eyes, or even at her at all when he turned back around. His expression was downcast, the energy he’d started with and brought into the lab completely disintegrated.

“Sam…” She trailed off and shook her head, scanning the blueprints again. Her voice had that awful tinge of pity. “It’s way too dangerous. I mean, I could probably build it, but there’s no way I’m lettin’ you use it for tha-“ ***CLICK***

She interrupted herself when she heard a click and looked up in surprise as she realized she was at the end of Sam’s gun, his finger on the trigger.

“I don’t _care_ if you think it’s dangerous.” Sam’s voice was quiet and as steady as his hand, his eyes hidden behind the shadow of his hat under the artificial lights in the lab. “This is my _only chance_ to get Max back and I’m not letting you stop it because you’re _afraid_.”

“Sam, put that away! I know you’re not gonna shoot me because you _know_ I’m just gonna come back.” Mama Bosco didn’t realize how much her words stung him as she angrily swatted the gun out of her face. Sam just brought it right back up. She put her hands on her hips and further furrowed her brow with a “Humph.”

“ _I_ was afraid.” Sam explained, ignoring what she just said. “ _I_ had to go places and do things I’d never even thought possible. _I_ had to fight tooth and nail for the _chance_ to save Max. _I_ _had to say goodbye_.” His focused shifted slightly and his voice broke, the gun lowered just an inch. “S-so… _you_ don’t get to decide when I give up.” He steadied himself again and resumed the threat.

“Sam…” Mama Bosco relaxed, her anger subsiding. “I know you’re feelin’ all sorts of angry and confused and sad. I get it. I do. That’s _normal_.” She explained. “There’s nothin’ wrong with feelin’ grief about it. Why don’t we go find someone who’s better equipped to talk with you about it? They’d be able to help more than me.”

Sam didn’t drop the gun. “You _don’t_ get it. Everyone looks at me like I’m this fragile little puppy that’s going to fall apart at any second. I’m _not_.” He lied. “I’m just _sick and tired_ of being the only one who cares to try and fix things.” He breathed. Then his voice got quiet. It turned into a whisper. A _frightened little whisper_. “You’re really going to stop the one chance I have to get Max back and be happy?”

She felt for him. She really, _really_ felt for the poor dog. But Sam needed to develop more as an individual. His separation anxiety was becoming problematic. And, frankly, Mama Bosco didn’t appreciate the tone of the question, making her out to be a bad guy. She sighed. “Yeah. I guess I am. Because this isn’t healthy. Look at yourself, Sam!” She gestured to him. “You haven’t bathed, barely slept, probably haven’t eaten. You’re a _mess_ , Sam!” She grabbed the blueprints she sketched and ripped them apart. “And if this is caused by your overreliance on Max, then I’m _thankful_ you’re on your own for a while!”

**BANG**

The end of Sam’s gun smoked. He slowly retracted his arm, pointing the gun up and blew on the end of the barrel to cool it and put it back in the holster. Almost simultaneously with the shot, there was the sound of glass shattering, and some sort of electrical buzzing. Mama Bosco looked over her left shoulder and quickly placed her hands over her mouth in shock.

“Y-you. Just. _Destroyed_ one of my machines!” She uttered, flailed her arms out wildly to her side, and ran to inspect the damage, careful to avoid the now-exposed wires. “What the hell’s the matter with you?!”

Sam didn’t reply. He simply huffed, walked back to the elevator, and went up. Mama Bosco looked back up at him when he reached the top. They locked eyes. She narrowed hers.

“Maybe you should spend some time alone.” She said, feigning calmness. A complete counter to the advice she had just been telling him the previous few days.

Sam didn’t bother saying anything. He reached in his pocket, grabbed the key she had given him, and threw it down the long distance onto the lab floor before turning and walking out. He couldn’t stay here anymore.

Whatever. He didn’t need Mama Bosco to build him that time machine. He could just find the one those Mariachi whozits were using for birthday surprises, then he could take care of things himself. Then he could go back and find Max and _fix_ everything…a-and they could go back…and…stop crimes, and…and…

Sam sighed. Slumped. Practically fell onto his rump on the bottom step outside of Bosco Tech. Who was he kidding? That machine was probably destroyed with the ship that housed it. Even if it wasn’t, he hadn’t the slightest clue where or even _when_ to look. That idea was hopeless.

And just like that, Sam was back to feeling just as miserable as he had before. Maybe more so. Served him right for getting his hopes up. When that little voice in his head teased him for being mopey and angst-riddled, he didn’t even have the energy to give any sort of snarky reply. He didn’t move an inch until the door quietly clicked open behind him, cutting his thoughts off and causing him to turn his head.

Mama Bosco poked her head out the door. She looked at him with contempt. Her voice, however, was steady. “You can keep the keychain.” She tossed the small bit of plastic at him. He didn’t make a move to catch it. It soared past him and bounced once on the concrete pavement of the sidewalk in front of him. Sam looked at it, but didn’t move to pick it up. “And if you want to apologize, you’d be more than welcome back.” She almost closed the door, but added, “Get some help, Sam.” And then Sam was alone again.

Sam re-slumped his shoulders after that. He knelt down and picked up the stupid keychain. She had taken the key off, of course. Honestly, he wasn’t fully sure why he even bothered with it. For some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to leave the thing abandoned on the street, despite his blood still boiling at Mama Bosco. He wasn’t that cruel…most of the time. He conveniently ignored the fact he just shot a bullet right past Mama Bosco’s head for this argument.

Sam stood back up and took a step back towards the office. The air was quiet around him and, despite it still being midmorning, felt like the silent midnight hours during a stakeout. The _worst_ hours of the stakeout. He heaved another sigh.

Sam was tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another fun fact:
> 
> Initially, I was going to have Sam have an argument with Sybil in this chapter, but decided against it as I couldn't really make it work properly.  
> This is partly why there are so many comments about Sam resenting Sybil up to this point  
> Just another example of how much a story can change from drafts to uploads :)


	4. Pause

Sam was alone.

That was probably obvious enough and didn’t really need explaining. He _did_ just kinda almost shoot one of his few friends…intentionally…near their head. Max was still gone (this time with a definite zero percent hope of getting him back). The city was still recovering, and everyone else was away or busy with their own lives.

And Sam was alone.

The day had _already_ started horribly when he’d had that terrible dream. It was foolish to think things would get better when he talked to Mama Bosco about his plan to bring Max back. He should have known she would refuse to help. Granted, _maybe_ he overreacted by pulling a gun on her, but he had been desperate. This had been his last chance to get Max back and now it was gone, too. And now he didn’t have anywhere to go that had power or running water. And it was still before noon.

This might’ve been Sam’s new record for quickest day-ruining event. It was almost impressive. No, wait. There was the time he’d just woken up after a long case and Max jumped down from his bunk right onto Sam’s head, causing him to fall and several objects on the floor to break. _That_ had been the quickest day-ruining even he’d experienced…and the quickest concussion. But this was a pretty close second.

Sam figured things couldn’t get too much worse at the moment. He reasoned that this probably meant that the only way to go was up, but that didn’t seem to do much for his terrible mood. His hands remained deep in his pockets, his hand fidgeting with Max’s hair. He figured it was a good thing no one knew he had it. It made him feel weird carrying it around. He didn’t want to explain why he felt the need to carry it to anyone. It just felt nice…having a piece of Max with him. At this point, he couldn’t imagine letting it go.

So Sam kept walking. Alone.

At first, he wasn’t sure where his feet were taking him. It didn’t really matter. The office…the Statue of Liberty. Who cares? What did _anything_ matter anymore? He wasn’t going to be working a case anytime soon. He didn’t have the energy to stop petty criminals on the street. No Desoto. Even _fewer_ friends. No Max. Sam wanted to lie down, despite the fact he had only recently woken up. Despite the fact that people in the city were in high spirits after the monster attack. Despite everyone moving on.

He could just sit in his office for the rest of time. That was tempting. Ignore the phone (if the power ever came back on) and lose his job. Become an empty husk of a person who only did the basic tasks necessary for survival. _Very_ tempting.

Sam found himself near the subway station. He hadn’t realized that he needed the facilities. Good thing he stopped, considering the whole “no water in his building” thing. He hated how long the walk was from the office, but there weren’t a ton of public restrooms available that didn’t require you to actually _buy_ something.

The station was about as busy as it had been the past few weeks, which is to say it was pretty much completely abandoned. Sam didn’t even know if the subways were still running or if the tunnels had collapsed in the rampage. Not that it mattered. Sam couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been in a subway. Max always wanted to use them, though, despite the fact they had the Desoto. Something about the “power” of the trains. Now that Sam thought about it, he was pretty sure the little guy was talking about steering the multi-ton death machine as fast as it could go through the undergrounds of the city. How endearing.

Sam didn’t encounter much resistance as he made his way to the washroom. And by not much, that means none at all. He didn’t even see another person in the underground station. It would’ve been eerie in any other circumstance. It didn’t stop Sam from wanting running water at the office again, though he was sure that wouldn’t happen again anytime soon. This long of a trip just for basic utilities would get old really fast.

There’s not much else to comment on. It was a restroom. Use your imagination. Or don’t.

Sam did stop to look into the mirror as he washed his hands, though. Honestly, he didn’t think he could look worse than he did when he had stayed at Bosco Tech. He was wrong. He did. He looked a _lot_ worse. The bags under his eyes seemed to have expanded, making his entire face droop like a basset hound’s. His fur was rough and scratchy looking. He smelled. But he looked like he lost weight, at least. He lightly patted his stomach, which growled angrily in protest. He supposed not eating for a few days would do that. Still, the very idea of ingesting anything sickened him. He would worry about that in a few more days, not now. He kind of liked the few lost pounds.

He ran some cold water and splashed some onto his face to clear his head. He rubbed his dripping hands onto his face, trying to clear away a bit of the crust and grime. Obviously it didn’t do too much, but it made him feel marginally better. The cold water felt rather nice. Felt like _something_ , anyway. When he leaned back up, his face dripped onto his suit and the ground at his feet. He didn’t stop it. He pulled a few disposable towels and wiped down his hands and face. He didn’t look back in the mirror. He walked out.

The rest of the walk back to the office was unremarkable. It was just before noon and beautiful and sunny. That was about the most interesting part. Sam kicked a stray rock in his path once.

He still _hated_ how quiet the city had been. He figured there would be lots of construction, or reconstruction, that is. But there wasn’t. Or if there was, they had somehow developed the technology to do it silently. At the worst time, of course. Sam longed for the noises of drills and the beeping of large trucks. Something to distract him again. Something to fight off this terrible lonely silence. But there wasn’t any, so he didn’t get a distraction. Another way the universe was kicking him while he was down. Man, he didn’t believe in karma, but he really didn’t think he did enough to deserve _this much_ of the bad stuff. Though, perhaps he did end up hitting one parking meter too many.

* * *

The office was quiet when he got back and it'd been quiet since. It was the worst. The quiet. What he wouldn’t give for an explosion or something crashing through his window. _Something_ to give him some brief respite from this mind-numbing silence.

His wishes didn’t come true. They never seemed to anymore.

Sam had taken to sitting at his desk. That’s where he’d been for the past…he didn’t know. Hours? There was a decent amount of light streaming in there compared to the bedroom, at least. It was almost nice, sitting in his office again. Usually he’d lean back in his chair and kick his feet on the desk, but he didn’t now. For now, he rested his head in his hands, his elbows resting on the table. When that got too tiring for his arms, he simply slumped his head down onto the desk.

His stomach had opted to constantly rumbling and almost painfully reminding him that he needed to _eat_ at some point, but it wasn’t bad enough to convince him to move yet. Moving and finding food was a bit too much energy right now. It was much easier to just sit here. Which was bad, because he _hated_ just sitting still, but he couldn’t bring himself to go anywhere or do anything. What would he do, anyway? Walk around some more? Go find Sybil? Flint? Who _cares_? They had other things to do.

Sam had never had to question what it was he was going to do before. Well, he had, but usually he had the answer in a matter of seconds due to a suggestion by Max, or Max breaking something, or Max chasing a rogue criminal or shady looking pedestrian. When they weren’t on cases they had constantly kept themselves entertained through any means they had. But they’d always done it together.

Sam sighed. Great, this again. _Max and I used to do this. Max and I used to do that. Max and I, Max and I, Max and I!_ He slammed his hands on the desk to stop his mind before he went on another mental and emotional rollercoaster. He couldn’t keep doing this.

He pulled the small bundle of hair from his pocket and laid it in front of his face on the desk. “I don’t want to be a freelance cop without ya’, little buddy.” He mumbled, dropping his head uncomfortably to the side. “I don’t want to be _anything_ without ya’.”

And that’s where Sam stayed. He had gotten up a few times to walk to the subway to drink from their cheap, dirty fountain and use the bathroom, but he didn’t do anything else. Time passed as usual, but he was far too unaware of reality to notice. Just sat and waited for nothing. Just sat and thought of nothing. Sat and dreamt of nothing. Sat and sat and sat and sat.

  
Sam was alone.

* * *

Sybil had been doing pretty well for herself. She didn’t like to brag, but she didn’t know of any other mothers who were running marathons with their stone-headed babies strapped to their back only one week after giving birth. She had found her passion in running only recently while figuring out what exactly she was meant to do. She had taken to delivering food on foot when driving proved pretty much impossible given the state of the streets. And since her office was still being rebuilt, it served as a good way to stay outside. Little Georgie liked the bounces in her steps, too.

Abe was still in D.C. Though he did call often. Sybil completely understood, and was rather forgiving of her husband for his absence. He was doing a great service for the country. She couldn’t help but be proud of him for it. That being said, her living in a tiny apartment while her place was rebuilt was a bit of a drag. Abe wouldn’t be able to even _fit_ in the place if he _did_ visit. She couldn’t wait to get back to her office.

She never had a chance to actually _see_ Straight Street for herself when she heard about her building getting destroyed…Y’know, _after_ it had been violently thrown to a different street next to the diner. Honestly, she wasn’t that beaten up about it. She _had_ been a bit peeved to find her stuff had been lost at some point, served her right for trusting Sam and Max with it all, but she didn’t care that much. She couldn’t stay mad at the two. They were good friends.

Or, she supposed Sam was, now that Max was gone.

Sybil paused her run to catch her breath and drink from the water bottle she kept strapped to the side of her bag she had laid over her shoulder. Always good to stay hydrated. She briefly wondered how Sam was doing. She hadn’t seen him since he came to visit her in the hospital, and while he had seemed okay while playing with Georgie, she could tell that he was real beat up about Max. Maybe it was just the psycho-therapist still in her. Who knows?

She had intended to visit his office to see him, but between work and the baby, not to mention she wasn’t even sure if his building was _open_ due to the repair work they had been doing when she left for the honeymoon, she never did. Their little street was in a truly sad state.

She decided that after work she’d go to that Bosco Tech place where they’d come up with the plan to save Max. She had _just_ enough time to do that, assuming he was there, to check in on him and then get home to feed Georgie. She had to keep him on schedule and he was pretty fussy about breaking it.

“Don’t worry, sweetie.” She cooed over her shoulder to her infant. “We’ll get those feeding and sleeping times ingrained in your cute little head as soon as possible.” Georgie babbled in response, clearly having no idea what she was saying.

  
She took another moment to stretch and breath, and then she was off again to her next stop.

* * *

It had been a busy day for deliveries. Sybil supposed people still weren’t doing a lot of traveling or shopping considering the state of things after Max rampaged the city. She didn’t mind, it was good for tips, but her legs were _sore_. She was almost tempted to skip going to Bosco Tech, but she knew if she kept putting it off she would never end up going. She’d have to suck it up.

She did end up putting Georgie in a stroller. She found she couldn’t carry the heavy baby for that long without getting exhausted. Thankfully, she had kept a collapsible stroller in her bag. It was _really_ convenient.

The evening sun felt nice as she walked. She knew the directions to pretty much every street in the area like the back of her hand at this point with her making deliveries and all, so she didn’t have any trouble getting to Bosco Tech. She savored the walk. Georgie was napping in his stroller. She would have woken him, reminding him that it wasn’t time to sleep right now, but he was just _too darn cute_. She couldn’t bring herself to do it. She supposed the schedule could wait for a day while she checked on Sam.

Bosco Tech looked the same as ever. Well, she’d only been there once, but it looked the same as that one time. She had some trouble getting her stroller up the steps just because her arms were tired. More places should have ramps for things like this. She didn’t mind much, though. It’s not like she wasn’t used to it, now.

Sybil admired Mama Bosco’s interior as she walked down the hall, though she was kind of surprised she could just walk in. Shouldn’t she have to knock or ring a bell or something? She hummed, but didn’t comment on it further. She made her way to the lab at the end of the hall.

Looking down over the edge of the floor, she saw the scientist, Mama Bosco, writing something on a large sheet of paper. She must be planning something. Sybil cleared her throat as she stepped on the elevator down.

“Excuse me!” She called, causing the scientist to perk up and turn and face her as she rode down. It was difficult to fit both herself and the stroller on the little platform, but she made do.

“Huh? Oh.” Mama Bosco stood and walked to the elevator as Sybil stepped off of it. “You’re that girl that was here to help Max, right? Sable?”

“Sybil. Sybil Pandemik.” Sybil shook the scientist’s gloved hand. “Nice to meet you on less drastic terms, Mrs…?”

  
“ _Dr_. Mama Bosco.” She emphasized. “And yes, it is. And _who’s this_?” She kneeled down and peeked at the bundle in the stroller, cooing slightly.

“This is little Georgie. He’s asleep now, otherwise I’d be happy to let you hold him.” Sybil explained and moved the blanket just a bit so Mama Bosco could see the sleeping babe a bit more clearly.

Mama Bosco paled, her face showing abject horror at the child. “What in the-?! Er, I mean… _aaaawww_!” She corrected herself and quickly stood to stay away from the child. “So, uh, what are you doin’ here? What can I do for ya’?” She changed the topic quickly so she could get the thought of the monstrosity out of her head.

“Well, I was actually looking for Sam. I kinda assumed he’d be here. Is he around?” Sybil asked as she re-covered Georgie to let him rest.

Mama Bosco scowled for half a second, then she sighed and crossed her arms, dejectedly looking at the floor to her left. “No, he’s not. I don’t know _where_ he is. Makes me feel awful.”

“Don’t feel bad, I’m sure he’s just at his office.” Sybil smiled in an attempt at reassurance. “Or he took a walk somewhere.”

“No, I mean, I haven’t seen him in _days_.” Mama Bosco explained. “Detective Paper hasn’t either.” She bit a gloved thumb. “…I shouldn’t have blown up at him like that…” She muttered her last sentence under her breath.

_That_ was a shock. Several _days_? That wasn’t good. Sybil didn’t need to be a licensed psycho-therapist to know that (though, having the degree didn’t hurt). “What do you mean?” She asked quickly, piecing things together in her head. “He hasn’t been staying here?”

Mama Bosco shook her head. “No, I…ugh, here I’d better explain.” She gestured for Sybil to take a seat at the table. The mother did so without complaint, letting her sore legs take a break. She kept Georgie by her side. Mama Bosco walked to the other side of the table and sat across from her, clasping her hands on the table.

“See, a few days ago, Sam came to me with this _crazy_ idea...” She began divulging the story of her talk with Sam. It took her longer to explain than she thought. Sybil had her brows furrowed as she grabbed a spare piece of paper and a pen on the table. Georgie stirred a few times, but otherwise slept peacefully. He was a _great_ kid.

“Then, after he shot at me, he turned and left.” Mama Bosco concluded shaking her head. “I told him if he apologizes he’d be more than welcome back, but I was so _mad_ at him, I just…I dunno, didn’t bother really lookin’. It took me a long time to repair that machine he broke. Not to mention I had to power down the whole lab to avoid any kind of electrocution.”

Sybil tapped her pen against her chin as she looked over her notes. “And Detective Paper’s been looking for him?” She asked.

Mama Bosco nodded. “Well, a little. He’s been real busy, the detective. He checked the office once, but said Sam wasn’t there. Otherwise he’s been buried deep in puttin’ the city back together.” She explained.

Sybil hummed and looked back to her notes. “I see. That _is_ worrying. It’s not like Sam to wander off or disappear. At least, not alone.” She put the end of the pen in her mouth and chewed on it while concentrating. Mama Bosco sighed.

“Look, I don’t know what _exactly_ is goin’ through his head. I told him so many times to get professional help, but I doubt he listened.” She looked down at the sketches on the table. “He mentioned your name, I think.” The scientist explained. “But he seemed pretty against talkin’ to you about it.”

“That makes sense.” Sybil put the pen down, lest Georgie see her chewing it and picked up the bad habit through her, despite the fact that that made zero logical sense. “I didn’t think either one of those two had a serious bone in their body. I suppose when we were trying to save Max, it didn’t really occur to him that we might _fail_.”

They were both silent after that. It was tough admitting they’d failed in their task, especially since Sam had taken it so hard. “I’m not mad at him anymore.” Mama Bosco broke the silence. “I don’t know if I was really that mad about the equipment in the first place.” She shook her head. “It was just hard seein’ him so desperate for a solution to somethin’ he couldn’t solve. I really _do_ think him developin’ a bit more on his own is good for him, but I shoulda kept a closer eye on him.”

“Hmm, you have a point about him being alone.” Sybil nodded. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen either one of those two on their own for so long.” Sybil readjusted her glasses. “They must have developed quite a co-dependency. That kind of thing is extremely tricky to tackle, especially in a situation like this.”

“Are you gonna find him?” Mama Bosco asked, almost pleaded. “If you find him, _please_ tell him he can come back here. I even thought about fixin’ up an old generator to power his office if he wants to stay there instead.”

“That’s really sweet of you, doctor.” Sybil stood and gathered the notes in her hand. “I suppose I can swing by his office. I’ve been wanting to see Straight Street again, and Georgie’s way off schedule today, anyway.” She explained. “Maybe he’s there now.” She added with a hopeful smile.

“I really hope so.” Mama Bosco replied and stood as well. “Thank you, Sybil. It makes me feel better knowin’ someone else is lookin’.”

“Don’t thank me, yet.” She replied, then mumbled to herself. “Too bad my psycho-therapist license is buried who knows where. Maybe that _was_ my calling.” Mama Bosco didn’t really understand what she meant, so she just gave an awkward smile. There was a pause where neither of them said anything. “Well, I should go.”

“Alright. Let me know if you find him.” The scientist followed Sybil to the elevator. She nodded in reply before heading out.

* * *

Sam was a shell of a person. In fact, if it weren’t for those periodic trips to the subway station, he might as well have ceased existing. He had almost become complacent with that idea, to no longer exist. It beat anything else he could think of, which wasn’t much.

The little scrap of Max’s hair still sat in front of him on the desk, unmoved from when he set it down after his last bathroom trip. The late afternoon sun filtered in behind him and created a warm spot of light on the side of his arm. Sam didn’t think too much about how sad he was about Max or express his anger for everyone else anymore. He mostly just sat there, his brain about as in tune as their sketchy T.V. with the janky coat hanger antenna. Static-y. Unfocused. He was too lazy to adjust the signal of his brain, though. Too tired. Too empty. This was fine as it was. He was used to it now. It was too hard to try and fix it.

He was so unfocused, he almost didn’t even notice the sound of the front office door opening, or the sound of footsteps on the crumbling stairs that probably wouldn’t ever get fixed, or the voice calling his name. Almost. He still didn’t react to it, they’d surely find him. Or give up trying. Either way.

Turns out it was the former. There was a shadow outside of his door. They knocked before opening it.

Sybil poked her head into the office. “Sam?” She called, looking at the dusty room. Her eyes scanned over him once before fully recognizing he was there. “Sam!” She fully opened the door and quickly stepped in, shutting it behind her, Georgie strapped safely on her back. She took a further step towards him when he didn’t respond, her voice lowering. “Hey, Sam…”

Sam didn’t look up at her right away. He blinked once. Then again. Then slowly, painfully slowly, turned his head to her. He seemingly stared through her. She grimaced at how he looked.

“Hey.” She said again. She had been _trained_ for behavior like this, but she still wasn’t fully sure how to speak to him. This was her friend, and it really hurt seeing him look so broken. _Think of something other than ‘hey,’ Sybil._ She thought.

They sat there, looking at each other for a moment before Sybil gathered her words. “I’m not…gonna ask you if you’re okay, or, like, start telling you to do things if that’s what you’re afraid of.” She started, gently. Sam didn’t react. “I just wanted to check on you, like you checked on me and Georgie. Remember Georgie?” She turned and showed the baby to the dog. He still didn’t react. He blinked.

This was going to be a bit harder than Sybil thought. She’d have to delve into the problem, but, knowing Sam, he probably would be completely unwilling to talk to her about it. She couldn’t force him. That was one of the first lessons. You can’t _force_ people to talk about their trauma, you can only encourage and support them. Create a space that allows them to _want_ to talk about it.

Her thoughts were interrupted when a loud grumble reached her ears. Sam seemed to react to it, too. He crossed his arms over his stomach and turned his head away, embarrassed. _Right._ Sybil thought. _Dr. Mama Bosco said he probably hadn’t eaten. But she fought with him days ago. Has he not eaten at all since our mission?_ She tried to keep from putting on a worried face and made a mental note to later tell him that she wasn’t judging him for how he was acting. It was important to stay neutral.

The brief interruption was just what she needed. She flipped the empty garbage can over, pulled it up next to Sam’s desk, and sat on it. She was worried it would break, but it was surprisingly solid. “Sam.” She said. He took a second to look at her. He looked so sad, his eyes hollow, dull, and lifeless…which was impressive, considering they were just beady little things. “You don’t have to talk to me about anything you don’t want to.” She started, sensing his tension with her being there. Georgie cooed lightly behind her head.

Sam still didn’t move, but his shoulders slumped just a little.

“I don’t want to psycho-analyze you or tell you that you need to feel better and need to move on.” Sybil leaned back a bit to reinforce her statement. “I just wanted to see you as a friend. No one’s seen you for a while.” She gave him the final sentence not as a question or an accusation, but as a prompt if he wanted to pick up on it.

He didn’t say anything for a long time, and just when Sybil figured he wouldn’t respond at all, he actually opened his mouth. “…I *ahem*” He cleared his throat, as his voice was raspy and hadn’t been used in days. “I’ve…been here.” He said with simplicity.

Sybil made a note of that. Either he was lying, since Flint had checked the building, Flint was lying about not seeing him to protect him or something, or maybe there was more to it, like he left at one point and then came back. He certainly didn’t look like he’d moved in a while, though. The statement wasn’t much, but at least it was something.

Sybil hummed in acknowledgement. Her eyes scanned the room once more while she thought of what to say. Her vision glanced over his desk and saw a small bit of hair, she thought it was a weird collection of dust at first, but it was tied together with a rubber band. Aha!

“You got a little piece of Max.” She made it a statement despite the fact she wasn’t fully sure if it was Max’s hair. She was good at deducing these things. She tilted her head to the desk to ensure Sam knew what she meant.

His eyes followed her gesture and he reached over and picked up the bundle. If he was trying to hide it from her, he was a little late. He didn’t pocket or shove it in his lap, though. He simply held it closer, running a finger through it. He stared at it intently, before facing her again and giving a light nod. He almost looked sheepish or embarrassed about it.

Sybil smiled. “I think that’s nice, that you have that.” That seemed to calm him a bit.

“…You don’t think it’s weird?” He asked timidly.

She quickly shook her head. “No, don’t be silly, Sam. It’s a little piece of your best friend you’ll always have. I think that’s beautiful.” She smiled brightly at him. “I bet it’s soft. I never got to feel Max’s fur. I feel he would’ve maimed me if I tried petting him.”

Sam seemed to perk up a bit at that. He almost smiled. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat again. “Yeah, it was surprising. That his fur was soft. He was actually pretty picky about it.” He pet the hairs again.

Sybil made another note that Sam used past tense in reference to Max. That was good. He at least acknowledged that the rabbit was gone and wasn’t stuck in some denial phase. She hummed again.

“I can’t imagine him sitting still long enough for a bath or a shower.” She placed an elbow onto the table and leaned her head on it, staring at the hair in Sam’s hand. “Did you have to strap him down?” She joked.

He shook his head. “No, no. Sometimes he took showers on his own.” He started, his voice a little lighter. “Little rascal _insisted_ on taking rides in the washing machine. Sometimes even with my laundry. First time I was afraid he _broke it_. But he loved it.” Sam shook a little, whether he was laughing at the memory or starting to cry, Sybil wasn’t sure. “Said he liked the way the suds tasted and burped up bubbles.”

“That sounds like him.” She smiled. “Unconventional.”

Sam nodded.

It was quiet again.

Sybil looked for something else to talk about. Something to keep him talking. “I’m surprised there aren’t any axes or medieval weapons in the dart board.” She commented, looking over her shoulder at the old thing. Sam looked up at it.

“Nah, we had to stop doing that. You should see the one upstairs.” He tilted his head up slightly. “Made a hole in the wall. Covered it up by just placing more junk in front of it.”

_This is good_. Sybil thought. _Keep getting him to come up with happy memories and then mention that those are the things Max would want him to hang on to, instead of moping_.

So that’s what she did. It was easy. She’d point something out in the room and Sam would have a story about it. He sounded more and more invested in each one, every time running his fingers through Max’s hair. She thought it was good seeing him open up a bit more.

Eventually, she asked about the vaguely Max-shaped paper puppet on the cork board.

“Oh, that?” He chuckled a bit. “I made that years ago when we were bored one week. Max had been busy trying to get himself stuck to the ceiling like one of those rubber sticky hands.”

Sybil nodded, silently encouraging him to keep going.

“So he peeled off the ceiling, and I put on my most serious voice and I went ‘Max, we need to talk about something.’” He paused, giving a goofy smile. “A-and he wasn’t buying it for a second, you know? He was like ‘Cut it Sam, what are you up to?’ And I pull it out from behind my back and say ‘I’m sorry, Max, but I’ve found a new partner.’ And I’m shaking my head and trying to look as sad as possible. But then I move my hand out from behind my back, with the puppet, and move it and speak like Max, like: ‘Hiya Max-y! You’re old news! I’m the boss now! So you’d better give me as much respect as you give yourself!’ And he just _lost it_. I mean he was laughing _so hard_. Hadn’t seen him laugh like that in who knows how long, and he kept givin’ Max Jr-that’s what he called it-kept givin’ it stuff to say, so I had to keep going with that dumb voice and we were hollering so loud we fell on the ground, and my sides hurt _so bad_ , a-and…”

He gulped as he trailed off. He felt himself shake slightly.

“A-and…” He kept looking at the small bundle in his hands. He kept running his fingers through it. This was _stupid_. He was just telling her about how he made that dumb paper bag puppet. How absolutely _hilarious_ the silly thing was. How Max _insisted_ Max Jr come with them on a case, and…and…

He couldn’t stop it. A tear, just one, peaked the edge of his vision. He kept fighting it. He didn’t want to cry in front of Sybil. But he couldn’t help it. Thinking about how much fun they had and how funny his little buddy was and how he loved goofing off with him and…and….

And a second tear slipped out. He sniffed. He squeezed those little hairs even tighter. More thoughts rushed through his head. How they got through every case together. How they looked out for each other. How they always had each other’s backs. How strong they were together. How he had to say goodbye to his other half…

Sam’s breathing quickened as he tried to contain himself, but it wasn’t working. More tears kept sneaking their way out of his eyes and threatened to spill down the side of his face. All he could do was keep looking down and violently rub that little piece of Max he still had. He almost blubbered, trying to get a handle on his emotions.

It was grief.

Pure grief.

  
Because Max was gone.

And this time he wasn’t coming back.

“I-I…” He sniffed and managed to stutter out before Sybil had a chance to hold him like a child. “I-I just…” He hiccupped slightly and looked up at her with those stupid tears in his eyes and his stupid nose running and his stupid breathing shallow and difficult and his stupid mind racing full of some of the happiest moments of his life. “I can’t…” His words got more and more incomprehensible as he kept trying to get it out. “I…I… _miss him_ …”

And that seemed to open the flood gates. He couldn’t stop now. He blubbered for another second, one final restraint…

And then he howled. Literally howled. Loud enough to scare that horrifying baby into doing the same. He collapsed into his desk and buried his head into his hands and sobbed. His whines high pitched and ugly. It was horrible. It was _awful_. It was the worst feeling Sam had ever felt in his life. His empty stomach dropped to his feet, and his heart went with it. He wailed in pain as he thought of what was lost.

He wanted Max back. He wanted him back so much that it hurt more than anything. It only hurt more because he knew that it wouldn’t ever happen, now. He was lost. And alone. And in that moment it felt like nothing would be good again. All of the goodness in the world disappeared with Max when he waved goodbye. He didn’t even get to _say_ goodbye to his little buddy. Just a stupid wave. How was that any way to say goodbye? How was that any way to say goodbye to your _best friend_?

Through his tears and grief, he felt Sybil place her arm around him and hold him close. He also knew this because of how _loud_ that baby was (not that he was much better). And how much he _needed it_. He normally was so uncomfortable with anyone touching him, except for Max, but in this moment he needed it more than anything.

Because he was finally coming to terms with it. He’d known it since that fateful day that it happened, but it didn’t feel real. He _knew_ Max wasn’t coming back, but now…now he was finally acknowledging it. Now he was fully aware of how _alone_ he was. How nothing would be the same now.

Everything they’d done felt like it disappeared in a puff of smoke. All the joy and memories and cases and drives and games and jokes. He would give anything to go back and live any one of them. _Anything_. If he only had Max again, he wouldn’t ask for anything else. He wouldn’t _need_ anything else.

But the one thing he needed, he no longer had. And Sam couldn’t help but feel that he had taken it all for granted. He _knew_ he took it all for granted. Every near death experience or dangerous moment replayed in his head. Moments he _could’ve_ lost Max, but didn’t and laughed about it. How _foolish_ he’d been to think they’d get away with it forever. And _of course_ it had been Max. It couldn’t have been Sam because he was the “responsible” one (he used that term loosely). It only made him feel more miserable and horrible. It only made him sob louder to think of that.

So there Sam sat, sobbing and whining and crying uncontrollably while Sybil tried comforting both him and her child at once. And there he stayed for who knows how long? Sam didn’t. He didn’t care about that. His mind was only on one thing. Despite Sybil being there for him it just kept repeating in his mind and only forced more tears out of him. The soul-crushing fact was...

Sam was alone.


	5. We Now Return to your Regularly Scheduled Programming

Tomorrow would be better.

That’s what Sybil had told him.

He didn’t really believe it at first, though. How could he? It felt like another false truth. Like everything else so far.

Sam stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling. Saying he was exhausted was putting it lightly. After the emotional rollercoaster he ended up going through today, he wanted nothing more than to sleep and forget everything for a few hours. But he couldn’t.

He ran his hands down his face and sighed. He wasn’t even fully sure what was running through his head right now. He was too drained to comprehend the thoughts that flew by in his mind. All he knew was that this was different from his lack of emotional response from the past few days.

Before, he had pushed everything away. Repressed it. Denied it. He still held out hope for something that wouldn’t happen. And when that hope seemed to disappear, he lashed out and then shut down because it was easier than facing the truth. Now, he had organized those emotions that he once held back. Faced them head on. And _accepted_ what had happened.

Well, kinda. If asked, Sam would vehemently deny he had accepted he outcome of their most recent case. How could that be something he just went along with? No, he had accepted how he _felt_ about the situation. He acknowledged that he was one half of the freelance police who had to sacrifice his partner for the good of the world, but he didn’t really… _accept_ it. He did accept the fact that he was hurting and that was _okay_. And maybe those looks of pity that everyone would give him or had given him weren’t so bad. Because it showed they cared about him enough to acknowledge his hurting.

_Yeah, okay, enough sappy stuff_. Sam thought. _If Max heard how you were thinking he’d never let you hear the end of it_. That thought made him chuckle a little.

He sat up on his makeshift bed, or, more accurately, Sybil’s living room couch. She had practically forced him to stay with her, at least for the night. He didn’t complain, not that he was in any state to at the time. It was better than staying at the office by himself again, at least.

That being said, the place was even tinier than Sybil initially described it. Sam was sitting on the couch and was about three steps away from the tiny kitchenette she had. It was pretty basic. Small stove top, little sink, a few cupboards and counters. Very bare bones. Her bedroom door was in front of where he sat, right next to her little T.V. There was also bathroom on the same wall the couch was shoved against. The only other point of interest was the sliding glass door to the tiny balcony to his right. Just three and a half rooms to live in. Sam supposed that his arrangement wasn’t much different, though. After all, at least Sybil had a kitchen.

_She may have a kitchen, but we have a microwave!_ Sam thought with a nod, fondly thinking of his most-used kitchen appliance. _I mean, I have a microwave._ He added a bit sourly.

It was weird. He was still confused on his situation with Max. Not, like, a question of relationship or anything, but where he stood with his partner’s death. It still hurt to think about, but it was almost like his breakdown earlier was the first scab on the wound, as morbid as it sounded. It was almost slightly muted, the pain of thinking about it. He could recall most of the details of that case without wanting to cry now, at least. But at the same time, openly admitting Max was gone was _still_ something he had trouble wrapping his mind around. It still felt like the little guy was just gonna pop up right next to him again, just to laugh and say “Gotcha!”

He grunted a bit in frustration. He couldn’t be too loud, on account that Sybil and her baby were sleeping, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep right now. He was thankful she had gathered a small bag for him before they left the office. It _was_ slightly embarrassing having her look through his mess of a bedroom to grab a clean suit for him, but at the same time, he _did_ spend however long bawling and crying in her arms, so his embarrassment about that didn’t mean much at this point.

He swore her to secrecy about his breakdown. He tried to threaten her to keep her quiet, but it wasn’t very intimidating on account he was still hiccupping and sniffling. She had promised not to tell anyone, though, so that was good at least. It was nice to have someone he could trust with this stuff.

That being said, he still didn’t really _tell_ her about anything. He almost felt bad, but he couldn’t bring himself to. It was just too uncomfortable to bring up his real worries and concerns and feelings about everything. It just was more the Freelance Police Style™ to instead tell a passing joke and ignore it.

Sam stood and tiptoed his way into the little bathroom. He closed the door and flicked the light on. The tiles were a sickly, disgusting yellow, revealing the age of the dingy apartment Sybil had for herself. The horrible things distracted him from whatever was previously on his mind for a moment. Part of Sam wished he could see the full range of colors, as maybe the tiling would be less offensive to the eye if he could. Another part of him wished he couldn’t see _any_ colors, as that would also be less offensive to the eye.

He stared at himself in the little mirror above the sink. He still didn’t look great. Actually, he’d say he looked about the same as the last time he’d seen himself. But he looked a _little_ less dead inside, he surmised. And he still had faint tear stains on his face, which was also…good. He’d changed into his pajamas already, so he couldn’t even say his hat looked nice, because he wasn’t wearing it. He gave a ‘tsk’ sound and turned the faucet of the little sink on.

He splashed some water on his face. It was cold and felt nice. He was a bit more careful trying not to spill any on the floor of the bathroom than he had been at the subway station. Mostly because he would’ve felt bad if Sybil slipped on it or something.

He grabbed the towel by the sink and rubbed the soft fabric on his face and hands to dry them. He looked back in the mirror and gave a weak smile. _There_. He thought. _A little more like Old Sam every day_. He shut the water off.

He didn’t leave the ugly little room yet. He leaned his hands on the edge of the sink and looked down at them. Then he looked back up at himself. Things were better, now. He’d come to terms with parts of Max’s death. So why did he still feel like that piece was missing? Why did he still feel so empty? Well, aside from the whole “haven’t eaten anything” thing. He stood back up straight and slapped his cheeks a bit, shaking him out of it.

“C’mon, Sam.” He quietly spoke to his reflection. “I know you’re struggling without him, but you gotta get back on your feet.” As if emphasizing his point, he shuffled his weight on said feet. “I know it was hopeless before, but things can only go up from here. You’ll see. We’ll get through this like we got through figuring out what that mysterious smell in the office was.”

Turned out the smell had been a glass of milk left underneath the couch. Sam wasn’t even sure how or when it got there. The only time either he or Max had milk was with cereal in the mornings. Couldn’t say he’d ever remembered a time either of them had a glass of it. Though it took the better part of a week to find the offensive thing. _That_ had been a rough week at the office. They couldn’t bear to be in the room for too long without getting headaches. Though it made Max laugh when they thought they would pass out from the toxic smell.

With his pep talk seemingly finished, Sam flicked off the light and opened the door to exit the horrible bathroom. The living space was the same as he’d left it. Part of him had expected Sybil to have secretly been awake and ready to talk to him more about his trauma and issues to pad out the chapter more, but she wasn’t. She was still sound asleep in her room with her mutant baby.

Sam _was_ going to just sit on the couch that was his makeshift bed until he either fell asleep or morning broke, but he decided against it for the moment. He instead walked to the sliding glass door at the end of the couch, unlocked it, and opened it. He stepped out onto the miniscule balcony. He could barely stand in the amount of space it took up. Putting seating furniture on it would’ve been impossible. Made him wonder why they even _made_ balconies so small.

He shut the door behind him and leaned on the rusty railing. The view was nothing special. Just another building on the other side of the street. It would’ve been more impressive if there was some light with which to _see_ the other building, but it seemed the streetlamp on the corner had been violently ripped out of the ground by _something_. Sam didn’t need to guess what, and didn’t want to. So he didn’t. He ignored it. Like usual.

The air had a chill, but it wasn’t bad, only an occasional breeze making him shiver. The cold didn’t usually get to him too bad, though. Not as long as he wasn’t standing still in it too long. The top of the Statue of Liberty? _That_ had been cold. Probably because he sat up there for…man, he should probably invest in a watch.

Tomorrow would be better…

Sybil’s words echoed through his head again, almost like a grim reminder. Of what exactly, he wasn’t sure, and he wasn’t sure if that phrase made him feel better or worse.

He let out a breath and watched it fog up in front of his face. It would be pretty easy to have a better tomorrow, considering the week he’d had. Or the past few weeks, if he really wanted to think about it. He didn’t.

Tomorrow…

Well, he had to get moving again at some point. He wasn’t going to stay here forever, especially when he felt his eyes wanting to crawl out of their sockets and hide in a jar somewhere every time he stepped into the bathroom. He was only half exaggerating.

Nah, Sybil was very kind letting him stay, but he needed to go back to the office. He _wanted_ to be there. He loved all of the reminders of memories with Max. It made him miss the little guy like crazy, sure, but it also made him smile. Every one of those seemingly randomly placed object had a story, and a good one at that. Most of them were almost unbelievable, and they would be if it came from anyone other than the freelance police.

He shook his head a bit. He’d have to go back to Bosco Tech, too. Sybil told him that Mama Bosco was working on a generator for his office. Knowing that made him feel guilty, again. How could it not? He _had_ almost shot her in the head…and intentionally, to boot. He would have to apologize. Too bad he wasn’t very good at stuff like that.

But, then again, he didn’t figure himself as being very good at being a walking depression stereotype. He was just full of surprises, wasn’t he?

He gave a yawn. It was late. He told himself he should try to get some sleep. He was sure he’d have trouble, but he had to try. Besides, the sooner he slept, the sooner the abomination that was Sybil’s bathroom would be cast from his mind space. He shuddered.

Too bad it only just occurred to him with that thought that he really, _really_ wanted to take a shower. He didn’t really notice before because of, y’know, the soul-crushing sadness and all that, but he felt _dirty_. There was a less than zero percent chance he was taking one here, and the office was still without water. He figured he’d have to ask Mama Bosco if he could use her shower, too. Great, more handouts. He hated feeling like a burden like this.

That little voice of logic that had been strangely silent the past few days suddenly piped back up, as if revived from the dead. _You’re not a burden. They care about you and want to help you_. Sam gagged from the overwhelming and nauseating wholesomeness of it…though it did make him feel a little better.

That was probably enough staring at nothing outside for one night. He didn’t have much else to think about anyway. Well, he did, but he couldn’t bring himself to right now. His exhaustion was more pressing at the moment.

He let go of the old railing, thankful he had updated his tetanus shot, and opened the door back into the living room. He sat back down on the couch and stretched and yawned again. He just wanted to forget everything for a little while and sleep was the closest thing to that.

Heck, maybe he’d ask Mama Bosco to invent something that would erase his memory of everything that’d happened. That’d make things easier.

He was kidding…maybe.

* * *

The day started off in a rush. Sam hadn’t even realized he’d been asleep before he was startled awake by a god awful screaming. It sounded like someone was being murdered. There was always some loud noise startling him awake, wasn’t there?

He sat up quickly, still only half aware of what was happening. He wasted no time reaching into his bag and grabbing his gun (never left home without it), and pointed it at the source of the noise.

“Sam! Put that away!” He heard over the shouts of the child.

He blinked. And blinked again, finally registering what was happening. Ah. Right. Baby. Babies cry. Not an emergency. He put the gun down.

“Sorry, Sybil.” He rubbed the last remaining bits of sleep out of his eyes and blinked to fully get used to the light in the room, most of which was streaming in from the balcony window. “Kneejerk reaction, I guess.”

Sybil was in her little kitchenette, something sizzling on a pan on the stove, and it smelled _good_. Her baby was still screaming in a little rocker next to her. She kept trying to comfort him while also manning the stove top.

“Oh, no, it’s fine. Not the first time you’ve pointed your gun at me. Or almost shot me.” Sybil waved it off. “But since you’re up, can you calm Georgie down? He gets fussy around breakfast time. Part of the schedule training, I guess. I’ve got to finish breakfast.”

Sam really didn’t want to interact with that freaky baby, but he couldn’t exactly say no. Sybil had already done enough for him, and Sam hated being in debt in any capacity. He got up, grunting and feeling his back pop, and walked over to the screaming child.

If the little monster was freaky when sitting still, he was downright scary when throwing a tantrum. Sam knelt down next to the little bugger.

“Heya, Kidd-o.” He said gently, kneeling down to the baby’s level. “What’s going on with you today, buddy?”

He knew the kid wouldn’t respond, obviously. He was a baby. Heck, half the time when he heard _adults_ ask each other questions like that they didn’t get a response. It just felt weird to not say anything.

He reached forward and softly tickled the baby’s chin and chest. Georgie retracted from his touch, still screaming and throwing his fists around. Okay, so that wouldn’t work. Picking the kid up was off the table. He still didn’t like the idea of carrying around something (or in this case some _one_ ) that could shatter if he dropped it.

Sam scratched the side of his head in thought. He had half a mind to stick a fist in the kid’s mouth to shut him up, but no doubt Sybil wouldn’t like that. Hmm…

He pulled his ear. An idea came to mind.

He grabbed his floppy ears and threw them over his eyes. The baby didn’t react at first.

“Wheeeere’s Sammy?” He asked in that dumb soft voice people use when talking to babies, trying to ignore his embarrassment. He suddenly revealed his eyes by flipping his ears back. “Here I am!”

They baby didn’t see nor react the first time. Sam did it again. Eventually, the kid calmed down enough to stare in curiosity instead of screaming. He did it a few more times, reminding himself every time he internally cringed at the action that this was for Sybil.

“Wheeeere’s Sammy?” He revealed his eyes again. “Here I am!” The baby’s confusion was replaced by a little smile. His lack of object permanence was almost cute. It reminded him of Max, who also had trouble remembering things existed when he couldn’t see them.

The baby reached out and pawed at his ear, curiosity on his face. Sam leaned a bit closer, ignoring how degrading his actions were as the baby got hold on his ear and tugged it suddenly.

“Ow!” He yelped. The baby put Sam’s ear in his mouth. “Uh, Sybil?” He cleared his throat. “Please tell me you’re good to lend a hand so he doesn’t develop a taste for dog flesh.”

Sybil looked over and giggled. “Aw, he likes you, Sam! He only chews on things he likes. Which, up to this point, is pretty much everything.” She cooed. “You’re so open-minded, aren’t you sweetie!”

“Yeah, that’s great, Sybil. Now, help?” Sam quickly responded. “Ow! That’s my eye!” The kid had a surprisingly strong grip on his head as his grubby little fingers investigated Sam’s face. While Sam could’ve easily just tore himself away, he didn’t want to start the crying all over again. Or tear his ear off. He did _not_ just sit there playing peek-a-boo for no reason.

Sybil moved the pan to the back of the stove and stepped over. She picked Georgie up, who let go of Sam in the process. His ear slapped back against the side of his head, wet and gross feeling. He shivered in disgust. _Another reason to never have children_. He thought. _Well, on top of the obvious_.

“Thanks, Sam.” Sybil said, looking at Georgie, who was babbling incoherently at her. “Goodness, you have a lot to say, don’t you Georgie? Yes you do!” She cooed at the baby before looking briefly back to Sam. “You’re good with him. He likes you!”

“You said that already.” Sam grunted as he stood back up. He wiped off the side of his head, only slightly grimacing. There was a pause as Sybil turned her focus to her baby. Sam brushed imaginary dust off of his knees.

“Uh, I’m…gonna change.” He announced, realizing he didn’t much enjoy standing in front of Sybil and her baby in his pajamas. He grabbed the bag she brought for him and shut himself in the worst room in the apartment, with its horrifying yellow walls. He tried not to think about it. Or acknowledge it. Or look at it.

It only took a few minutes before he stepped back out in his signature suit, his favorite hat adorning his head. He made sure to grab his little piece of Max and pocket it. He also made sure to pocket the Bosco Tech keychain from his bag, since he planned on going there anyway. He was just finishing straightening his tie as opened the door.

Sybil had moved herself and Georgie to the couch, seeing as it was the only place to sit in the tiny apartment, and was feeding him from a bottle. Sam thanked whatever higher power there was that she had formula. Otherwise, he would’ve felt even more uncomfortable than he already was.

“Did you want some breakfast?” Sybil asked, noticing Sam step into the room. She tilted her head towards the kitchenette. “I made extra.”

Sam looked over to the modest breakfast she made. Sausage links, scrambled eggs, bacon strips…she had a pot of coffee on, too. Sam hadn’t had a nice breakfast in who knows how long. He hadn’t had _anything_ in who knows how long. His stomach _loudly_ answered for him, embarrassingly enough.

He dropped his bag and took the two steps needed to more accurately witness the spread. He didn’t grab as much as his stomach told him to, the idea of eating still made him a bit nauseous, but he couldn’t deny that his hunger outweighed his nausea at this point. Plus, the food looked so good how was he expected to resist? He loved greasy breakfast food.

He made his way back to the couch and awkwardly sat next to Sybil, who had moved to the end to make room for him. She kept staring at her baby with warm eyes while he ate. Either she herself had eaten very quickly or waited until the baby was done eating first. It almost made him feel bad, eating without her, but at this point he was too hungry to care.

There wasn’t a conversation between them at breakfast. Sam was too focused on his food and Sybil was too focused on her child. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though. Not like the kind of silence that Sam despised. It wasn’t deafeningly lonely.

Either Sam ate quicker than he thought, or he didn’t grab as much food as he thought. Probably both. He finished his breakfast in a matter of minutes. He stood and rinsed the plate off in Sybil’s little kitchen sink and set it aside for proper washing. She probably took much better care of her dishes than Sam did. The least he could do was _try_ to clean up a bit. His stomach still weakly whined at him, but he could ignore it at this point.

“Do you have plans for today?” Sybil asked, briefly looking up from Georgie. “You’re welcome to stay here if you don’t. I’m sure Georgie wouldn’t mind some playtime with you.” She added. “Right Georgie?”

The idea of spending an entire day with Sybil’s child was about as unbearable as spending a full day alone in his office. Not to mention even _thinking_ of those ugly yellow tiles in her bathroom made him want to puke. He shook his head.

“I’ve got to go to Bosco Tech.” He mumbled, turning his head to the side and scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment. “I, uh…owe Mama Bosco an apology.” _And I need a shower in a room that doesn’t count as a war crime_. He added in his head.

If Sybil was disappointed that he didn’t want to stay, she didn’t show it. “Yeah, that seems like a good idea. She was really worried about you.”

That didn’t really make Sam feel better, so he didn’t comment on that topic further. “What about you? What’re you up to today?”

It felt weird asking such normal, mundane questions, considering everything that’d happened. He had never really had to plan what he was going to do in a day before. Usually he just did things spur of the moment. Things like eating or shopping only came to his mind when he needed them. Or if Max needed them. Heck, even cases weren’t planned out. The commissioner told them where trouble was or who was causing it and then the freelance police went, guns blazing. He didn’t need a plan.

He didn’t really have a reason to, but he blamed Max for his lack of planning skills. Probably because the lagomorph was the same was he was. Zero attention span, zero planning ability. What a combination they made, huh? Still, they’d always made it work up to this point.

“I’ve got work after breakfast.” Sybil answered Sam’s question, bringing him back to reality. “Those deliveries aren’t going to make themselves.”

“Deliveries?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, I deliver food for a bunch of local restaurants. People don’t want to do a lot of eating out right now.” Sybil explained, intentionally leaving out _why_ people weren’t doing a lot of driving right now.

Sam didn’t get hung up on it. He was more shocked at her statement. Not the fact that she’d changed professions (again), but she’d _just_ given birth. “But you don’t even have a car.” Sam pointed out.

“Yup. I run all of my deliveries. Georgie stays strapped to my back.” She looked rather smug as she told him that.

Sam had no place to be concerned about the child’s safety. If it were up to him, he would’ve stopped the kid’s crying by shoving his fist in the monster’s mouth. He also shouldn’t have been surprised by her commitment. Sybil couldn’t ever sit still with one thing for long. It also reminded him of Max.

The whole conversation only further served to make Sam uncomfortable. He was acting so normal when just the day before he couldn’t even function properly due to his grief. Had one talk really done that much for him? He was almost afraid to say yes.

Sybil stood up and burped Georgie after he’d finished eating and walked to her bedroom to organize her supplies for the day.

“You don’t have to wait up.” She said as she moved. “I’ll check up on you at your office later. That’s where you’ll be, right?”

Sam nodded before realizing that she wasn’t looking at him. “Yeah, I’ll be there after going to Bosco Tech.” He called through her shut bedroom door.

There was a moment of awkward silence before Sam stood up. _Well, best not dawdle._ Sam thought.

_Don’t say dawdle, Sam._

_Ugh, can I go five minutes without doing something that reminds me of him_? Sam grabbed his bag, knowing the answer was ‘no.’ He thought about saying goodbye, but something in him told him not to. Probably for the best. He took one last look at the breakfast leftovers with hungry eyes before walking through the front door.

* * *

Sam hadn’t really thought of how he was going to face Mama Bosco as he walked. From what Sybil described, the scientist had been very remorseful about their argument, but Sam couldn’t piece together why. He was the one who shot at her.

He cringed in embarrassment as he thought about how he’d acted that day. What was going through his head that convinced him to pull his gun and… _monologue_? Disgusting. Horrifying. Max would’ve never let him hear the end of it if he caught wind of Sam’s behavior.

So, he was nervous to talk to Mama Bosco. Obviously. He still didn’t want to further explain himself or how he was feeling, though he was sure she’d probably ask. And while he could at least pretend like he was his normal self, he couldn’t deny the feeling of something missing from his life. Or, more accurately, some _one_.

Sam hummed. Obviously not thinking about Max was proving to be quite difficult. Then again, though, how could it not be? They’d been partners and best friends for their whole lives. The dog couldn’t even remember anything before hanging out with Max as a kid. You can’t just take one half of that kind of partnership away and expect it to _not_ have lasting effects.

Sam was still thinking of how he was going to apologize as Mama Bosco’s remarks from their argument kept popping back into his head. _I’m thankful you’re on your own for a while…Maybe you should spend some time alone…Get some help, Sam._ Those words stung more than he realized. He hadn’t thought about it…you know, on account he kind of had other things on his mind at the time, but it hurt. Especially knowing that it was coming from a friend.

He was sure she didn’t mean any of it, well, aside from that “get some help” line. He was especially convinced because of how Sybil described how apologetic the scientist was. He was sure that she was just speaking out of frustration because of how darn stubborn he was, and how could he blame her? At the time, a part of him was also frustrated with himself for how he was acting. It’s just that a bigger part didn’t want to acknowledge that, so guess which side won?

It had taken him longer to get to Bosco Tech than it should have. Perhaps he had slowed his pace down to delay the inevitable, like a child walking home with a bad report card. He felt knots of anxiety in the pit of his slightly less empty stomach. He couldn’t explain why he was a bundle of nerves. He knew she’d be glad to see him. He knew that she wasn’t angry anymore, so why did he feel like he was about to walk off the edge of a steep cliff?

He hovered by the door of Bosco Tech just long enough for it to be weird before letting out a shaky breath and opening it.

The inside was the exact same as it’d always been, but it felt foreign to him. There were still the spider webs in the corners of the hallway, there was still that creepy dog portrait halfway down the hall, there was still that jarringly hi-tech elevator leading into the lab. It was all the same, but it felt so different.

He looked into the lab before stepping onto the elevator down. Sure enough, Mama Bosco was still down there, typing away and doing whatever she usually did. Sam made a note to ask her about it one day. He just couldn’t help himself. He had to know. Just, not today.

He rode the elevator down, unsure if he was glad that it was practically completely silent or frustrated that it’d be on _him_ gain the scientist’s attention and to announce his presence.

The elevator stopped at the lab floor and Sam stepped off. Mama Bosco still didn’t notice him standing behind her. He took a breath to psyche himself up, and then audibly cleared his throat to grab her attention.

Mama Bosco startled a bit and turned around. Surprisingly, she wasted no time grabbing Sam and hugging him.

“ _Sam_!” She exclaimed, squeezing him. “Oh, I was _so_ worried about you!” She tore herself away rather abruptly, but kept her hands extended on his arms. Her expression turned serious. “Don’t ever run off like that again.”

Sam blinked. “Um…didn’t you… _tell_ me that I should be on my own for a while?”

Mama Bosco blanked for a moment before bringing her arms back to herself. She cleared her throat, looked to the side, and scratched her cheek. “Ah, yes, well…Don’t do it again.”

Sam wasn’t exactly sure what to say after that. Well, that’s not entirely true. He knew he had to apologize, but the words got momentarily stuck in his throat. The air grew thick with a strange awkward tension as Mama Bosco also tried searching for the right thing to say.

“The, uh…lab looks nice.” Sam managed to get out, looking over to the machine he’d broken the last time he’d been there. Mama Bosco followed his gaze.

“Yup.” She nodded. “I work pretty quick, what can I say?”

“So, listen, uh…” Sam scratched the back of his head and then readjusted his collar. He avoided eye contact. “I’m, uh…real sorry I almost shot you…and broke your stuff…” He trailed off.

Mama Bosco quickly waved it off. “No, no. Don’t be sorry, Sam. You weren’t in your right headspace. Not a big deal. I fixed it all up right away.” She explained before pausing. “…I said some pretty nasty things to you, too. I shouldn’t have said that stuff about bein’ glad you were on your own. It was uncalled for, and I truly didn’t mean it.”

Sam found he was able to look at her again and gave a half smile. “Guess we’re even then, huh?” He asked.

She laughed. “No way we’re even! You cost me a lot of time and money on that machine, we’re _far_ from even.” He deflated a bit. “But, I suppose I can let that go. Here.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the key to the apartment he had previously stayed in. “You stay here anytime you want.”

Sam eyed the key for a moment before reaching into his pocket and grabbing the keychain he brought with him. He held it up, showing he hadn’t abandoned it. They both smiled.

“Oh, yeah!” Mama Bosco broke the moment by shoving the key roughly into his hands. She quickly stepped away and walked to a dark corner of the lab. Sam didn’t follow her, but he watched as she left. “I’ve got this for you!” She called.

A moment later, he heard her grunt as she lifted a large generator and carried it to him. She set it on the ground with a loud whump. She took a breath.

“Pretty nice, right?” She patted the top of it. “This old baby can power your buildin’ for weeks. She’ll need some gas after that to keep goin’, but it should work pretty well until you get your power back on.” She put her hands on her hips. “So, am I great or what?”

Sam stared at the giant thing. It was like a generator on steroids. It had wires and buttons and symbols he didn’t really understand. It looked heavy. There was a dial, a ripcord, and a few buttons on one end, and at the other there was a gas cap. At least he recognized a few things.

“Wow.” He said under his breath. He looked back up to Mama Bosco and nodded. “ _Very_ great, Mama Bosco. I really owe you one.”

“Actually, you owe me two. Or three, or more. I’ve given you a lot of inventions over these past weeks.” She laughed. “Nah, I just figured you’d wanna stay where you’re comfortable, rather than bein’ forced to stay here.”

He nodded. “Well, we still don’t’ have water.” He commented. “So it looks like I’ll be making regular trips until that’s sorted.”

“Sam, are you implyin’ I’m supposed to fix your water problem, too?” She asked incredulously before quickly answering her own question. “I’m just pullin’ your leg. I’ll see what I can do.”

Sam managed a small laugh in return. “Well, while you’re at it, the Desoto kinda got destroyed, too. If you get bored.” He looked up at the ground floor.

“Sooo, uh…how do we get this monster out of here?”

* * *

Turns out the elevator could hold more weight than Sam thought. The only problem was he couldn’t really fit on the tiny platform at the same time as the giant generator. It took quite a bit of maneuvering before they managed to get it securely on to the ground floor. They caught their breath.

“Thanks again, Mama Bosco.” Sam managed between gasps. He wiped his brow. “It’s gonna be hell getting this back to the office, though.”

Mama Bosco smiled. “Yeah, well that one’s gonna be on you. I can’t do everythin’ for ya’.”

Sam shrugged. “Fair enough.” He stood up properly. “You don’t mind if I keep this here and bum you for a shower, do you?”

“Ugh, _please_ do.” She replied, turning up her nose. “You’ve needed one of those for _days_.”

Sam was about to be offended, but she was completely right. He snickered a bit. “You don’t want another sweaty dog hug before I go?” He asked innocently, reaching his arms out.

She stepped onto the elevator and lowered down right away. “Not on your life.” She said as she descended. Though she was laughing, too.

Sam wasted no time returning to the little apartment where he’d spent his first night after losing Max. It was the same. Maybe even a little nicer than he remembered. He honestly didn’t care to take in the details (or lack thereof) the last time he’d been here. He still didn’t really this time. It’s not like anything had changed.

He ignored the majority of the apartment and walked down the little hallway. He opened the linen closet. Fresh towels were folded neatly and put away on the shelves. He grabbed one. He wondered if Mama Bosco had prepared this whole place for him before they had their argument. He felt a little ball of guilt well up inside him at the fact that she went to so much trouble for him.

He stepped into the bathroom and clicked the door shut.

* * *

He felt _so_ much better after drying himself off and changing back into his suit. It was like all of the events of the past few days completely washed down the drain with the water. Saying it was refreshing was an understatement. He almost forgot how much he missed taking showers.

He was just finishing buttoning his trousers, and was about to throw on his dress shirt, when he paused and looked at himself in the fogged mirror. He wiped it down with his towel.

It wasn’t immediately obvious, but he could tell he had lost weight. He pinched the side of his stomach almost as if proving it. He whistled at himself. _Looking good, Sam_. He thought. _Haven’t looked this good in years_. He ignored the fact that the difference was negligible, and he didn’t think about _why_ he’d lost the weight. That would just serve to make him sad again.

He finished changing (really, it was the same suit he had come into Bosco Tech wearing as he hadn’t packed an extra) and stepped back out of the apartment, a certain lightness in his step.

He let out a breath as he looked at the generator in the hallway. It was going to be a long walk back to the office. He grumbled to himself that he was going to get all sweaty right after showering as he picked up the clunky thing. Mama Bosco couldn’t have at least put some wheels on it? This was just cruel.

He slowly heaved the thing out the front door, ensuring he had said goodbye to Mama Bosco before he left. She let him know he needed to plug the generator into the grid in the basement of his office as he left. He readjusted the bag with his pajamas and old suit in it over his shoulder. Right. One foot at a time.

So that’s how he walked. One grueling, awful step after the other all the way from Bosco Tech to the corner of Straight & Narrow. It took hours. He had to stop for breath and to stretch his aching muscles multiple times. The sun was already beginning its decent by the time he saw his building.

He was sweating again, of course, and he was panting, trying to grab all of the air he could. He cursed the lack of running water at the office again. He could really go for a drink right now. He told himself that he was almost there, which was just enough motivation to keep going.

He couldn’t exactly drop the thing down through the holes in the stairs or down the sewer. He was pretty sure it wouldn’t even fit through a manhole. He’d have to use Stinky’s “secret” elevator.

He wondered if Old Stinky was in. Considering his new gorilla body, it would be comical trying to see him cook. Granted, it was comical trying to see him cook anyway. Sam also wondered if Girl Stinky ever turned up. He still didn’t really care for her, but it was fun accusing her of murder all the same. Or, at least Max always thought so.

Since he had no better ideas, Sam hauled the stupidly large generator past Bosco’s Inconvenience (still closed while Bosco dug his way out of debt in Vegas) and to Stinky’s Diner.

The door opened, so that was a good sign, but Stinky hardly locked the door anyway. And when Sam stepped in, he found the place was completely abandoned. He couldn’t help but feel disappointed. He always had great fun annoying the old guy, and Max somehow enjoyed the inedible mush that the old man made. Oh well.

He placed the generator next to the booth that was secretly an elevator to the sewer. He walked to the counter, intentionally avoiding the freezer stocked full of irresistible Fudgie-Freezes (he told himself he’d come back for them), and pushed the bright green button to activate the hidden passage. Immediately, the table of the booth lowered into the ground.

Sam wasted no time moving back to the platform and hauling the generator onto it. It moved down quickly and quietly. When it reached the sewer, he grabbed the generator and made his way for the tunnel under the office.

It was slow work, through the caves the mole-people had dug. Not very atmospheric either. Kinda dingy and smelly. Sam found he almost tripped on a few rocks he had trouble seeing as he focused on breathing and moving the generator.

Finally, when he reached the creepy prophecy room, or whatever those dorky mole-men called it, he paused to catch his breath. Now all he had to do was hook up the generator and turn it on.

He looked through the underside of their building for a minute before he found a plug that looked like it would work in a crevice by the hole where that astral projector had been.

Looking at the little room didn’t bring many happy memories. Actually, zero happy memories. It just reminded him of Max without his brain and that time he had to astral project himself to try and save Max in his Elder God form. It also reminded him of that freaky dream he’d had where Max was actually _scary_. The sooner he got out of this depressing place, the better.

He hauled the generator by the office’s boiler, which looked to have been busted at some point. Probably when they sucked Skunkape to the Penal Zone. Sam plugged the generator in and pulled the cord to get it going. It took a few attempts, each one making Sam’s arms feel like jelly, but eventually the thing began sputtering and running.

* * *

Back in the office, Sam flipped the lightswitch and was greeted with actual light! From a bulb! Hallelujah!

He stepped into the dusty office and looked around. It was still quiet, and he hated it for that, but it felt good to be home. Though it almost felt different, somehow. He threw his bag onto the couch and went to sit at his desk.

He wasn’t planning on sitting there until the end of time, at this point, but he needed to rest his sore muscles for a second. Hauling that generator had been quite an excursion, and he needed a minute to recover.

He leaned his head back on the chair and closed his eyes, focusing his breathing to supply his body with rich, clean oxygen. Well, clean was a bit of an overstatement. Rich oxygen. Actually, they were kinda situated in a lower class area. Just oxygen. Well, really, due to the smog and pollution in-

He sat like that for another minute, feeling his body sink and relax into the familiar chair was nice, and he almost felt like sleeping. He decided just before dozing off, though, that his neck would end up ridiculously sore and stiff if he kept in the same position. He sat back up, bringing his head back to normal level and blinking the sleepiness out of him.

He reached in his pocket and pulled out his final piece of Max. He’d actually gone most of the day without touching it or thinking about it. He wasn’t sure to chalk that up to a victory or be sad about it.

There was another length of time where nothing happened. Sam sat, looking at the hair in his hands in his quiet office. It was almost unbearable, sitting there like he was. It only kept reminding him how lonely he felt.

He stood abruptly. “How about a walk, huh little buddy?” He asked, knowing full well there was no one else there. “Not knowing where you’re going is half the fun.” He answered a question no one asked. He knew it was weird and sad to talk like that, but he couldn’t help it. If he had to sit in silence like that for another minute he’d seriously go crazy.

So even though he just got in, Sam found himself leaving his office again. Usually he didn’t like where he ended up wandering while not paying attention, but this time he knew where he was going.

The walk was surprisingly busy. There were honest to goodness _people_ out, rebuilding the roads and walking themselves in the late afternoon sun. It was kinda…nice to see things back to normal. _This isn’t normal_. Sam tried to remind himself.

The thought made him slow down. Things really were continuing on like nothing happened, huh? He put his hand in his pocket and touched the bundle of hair again. It had been how many days since he lost Max? Sam didn’t even know. He had been in a daze for most of it. But here he was, walking and talking to people like normal. It was weird. It felt _wrong_. He was doing things he would always do. Just…without Max.

He knew he shouldn’t have been thinking about it again, but he couldn’t help it. When a Max shaped hole is cut out of your heart, you can’t just be expected not to bleed.

_Very poetic, Sam._ He thought as he kept walking. _Take you all day to think of that one_?

He looked up and he was back, looking out over the Statue of Liberty. It felt like time had stopped however many days ago it had been when he first found himself blankly staring at the statue on the horizon and was only just now resuming. He didn’t want to be here, but also he couldn’t seem to stay away. It was like he was being pulled to it. He couldn’t explain it.

He found himself grieving again. It was like the wound of losing Max was fresh again. Like he had just walked out of Bosco Tech after the failed cloning. Like everything he’d done the past few days never happened, and he found himself taking his hat off and placing it on his chest again. It was surreal.

He stared out at the statue in silence.

He wasn’t sure exactly how long he’d been standing there, staring out over the statue of Lady Liberty, and frankly he didn’t care. It could have been minutes or hours or, heck, if he wasn’t even acutely aware of the passage of time, it could have been days. It didn’t matter.

Because Max was gone.

And this time he wasn’t coming back.

Sam tried to clear his head. He closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath.

He opened his eyes and took one more look at Lady Liberty. He didn’t want to hold out for a miracle, but he did. If by some one in a million or one in a billion chance Max just popped up again like he always did and things went back to normal, Sam wouldn’t even question it. He would accept it, thank whatever higher power heard his plights, and be the happiest dog in the world.

A moment passed. Then another. Only the lap of the tides against the rocky shore below met his ears. And with each passing second, Sam’s hopes continued to evaporate. No miracle would be granted today, either. He placed his hat back on his head.

But then, something unexpected. A sound, he couldn’t tell what. He turned around just in time to see the time traveling elevator pop up. The doors opened.

And it was Max.

“Oh, hi Sam!” The lagomorph waved cheerily at him.

“Holy beer-battered princes of Maine and kings of New England in a glass-bottom boat with a trip-hop DJ and the second runner up in the Ms. Teen Oklahoma Pageant!” He paused to breathe as he tried to absorb what was happening. “It’s past Max in a time traveling elevator!”

  
Max stepped out of the elevator and approached him. “What’s shaking?” He asked casually.

  
Sam couldn’t help it. Even if this was some crazed fever dream or hallucination, he couldn’t stop himself. He ran up and squeezed Max as tightly as he could in his arms, lifting the lagomorph off the ground. “Max!” He exclaimed as he did so and it took everything in his being to keep from crying, because he knew Max would make fun of him for it.

He couldn’t see or really tell, due to being overwhelmed with his own emotions, but Max actually _leaned into_ the hug as well.

Sam couldn’t recall how often the two members of the freelance police embraced. It was a rare occurrence. They just weren’t super comfortable with physical affection, especially with each other. But in this moment…It was everything either of them could’ve ever asked for. “I thought you were-“ He interrupted himself and quickly ended the hug. “Wait a second, where’s the past me?”

Max had an unreadable expression on his face. He paced past Sam towards the edge of the railing. “Oh, yeah, about that…We were on a case, and you got turned into a giant monster with electromagnetic powers, so I kinda had to blow you up.” He turned back and he was grinning, but Sam recognized it. He wasn’t happy. It was a face Max put on when something bothered him but he didn’t want anyone to know. Though Sam could probably guess what the issue was based on the explanation. “It was horrible!”

And suddenly, it kind of caught up with Sam. Max was _here_. In front of him. Like nothing had even happened. And suddenly he felt overwhelmed, completely and overly so. What did he say? How could he explain? He shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling the small piece of hair and turned his face to the side. Did he tell him his other self had died? Did he explain how much he _missed_ him? It felt like everything he had experienced up to this point disappeared and his brain was drawing a complete blank.

And though he wasn’t completely focused on it, Max almost looked like he was thinking the same thing. Which was crazy, because Max _never_ thought about anything serious for more than a second.

So there they stood, two lifelong best friends who had always been in complete sync completely lost as to what to say or how to react to the other. It felt like a lifetime passed in those few seconds. How would they approach everything that’d happened up until now?

“…Soooo…wanna stop some crimes?” Max pulled out his gun and gave Sam a half smile.

A distraction, then.

“Let’s!” Sam accepted the distraction before moving to the side to let Max lead the way to wherever they would go next. “Where do we start pal?”

“I heard there’s a new super villain in town called ‘The Banker.’” Max started, his lips curling. “He’s created a board game…that kills!” He exclaimed, laughing to himself.

Sam stepped past the time traveling elevator and slapped the side of it to send it away. There was no way he was risking losing another Max. Not now. Not after every hardship he’d been through. He began walking after his little buddy down the street as he spoke.

“And there’s rumblings that the horrible Rat Queen has been summoning all her minions to her secret nest beneath the city, subsuming them into her blood caked fur to form the unstoppable Uber-Rat: Empress of Slaughter!”

Obviously they weren’t _really_ going after these villains…yet. They both knew that. Those guys would come later. Probably after they got a new Desoto and things settled down in their heads and hearts.

“Oh boy!” Max exclaimed, practically jumping down the road over giant craters a different version of himself created. “I can subdue her with my acid-slicked whip-like tongue!”

Sam paused. “You don’t have an acid-slicked whip-like tongue…?”

“Oh…” Max shrugged. “Well, I can still drool on her till she begs me to stop.”

Sam shook his head and chuckled. “You crack me up little buddy…”

And so the freelance police were back. And many criminals and shady looking pedestrians were brought to justice that night. Heck, even some non-shady looking pedestrians were, too.

Sam didn’t care if this Max was from some alternate reality or if it really was just some major hallucination or dream. He hoped he never woke up from this. His little buddy was back and that hole in his heart was filled. He found he couldn’t keep the grin from his face the entire night, even when they tried being gruff and interrogated shady alley dwellers. When he heard Max threaten someone or saw the little rascal pull some violent act, it filled him with glee.

And throughout the night, his joy only grew. It blossomed and exploded into a thousand little joy pieces that scattered throughout his entire body. His exhaustion and sore limbs seemed to vanish in an instant. His mind cleared and he felt lighter than he had in weeks (Both literally and metaphorically).

He didn’t think it’d be possible, after the night he had with Max, but he just knew they’d do the same thing the next day and the day after, just like they used to. Just like they always did. It was impossible to describe the unbridled joy it brought him. No matter how amazing his night had been,

Tomorrow would be better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I can't believe this project is already completed!  
> This was a ton of fun to write, and I'm proud that I managed to finish it! I usually struggle to finish anything longer than one part, so I take this as a great accomplishment!
> 
> Thanks a bunch for reading my first fic posted here! If I find the inspiration again, I may just do more!
> 
> I should mention I take no credit for the dialogue between Sam & Max in the final scene. I ripped that directly from the crime fighting ending of Devil's Playhouse, so don't give me credit for it :)
> 
> Happily ever after to my favorite freelance police goofballs!


End file.
